From the Ashes
by Backroads
Summary: When prophecies lead to war, four friends are instructed to form Hogwarts. And then they find some prophecies concern them.
1. Prologue

_"My right hand holds matches_

_My left holds my past_

_I hope the wind catches_

_And burns it down fast."_

_--Martina McBride "From the Ashes"_

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"You remember the deal we made, don't you?"

She stood with her back toward him, pretending to study the tapestry on the wall, pretending not to hear the determination in his voice. An admirable quality, determination was. Not meant to be painful in someone you loved. Loved once and still loved in that strange, twisted reason only the heart could understand. "Of course I remember, Siyth." If only she could keep her voice still, but emotions ran high. Too soon after labor; she shouldn't be walking around like this, dealing with this.

Siyth sighed deeply, patience straining, and moved closer, the only evidence the shifting moonlight-fed shadows on the wall. She cringed once, daring him not to touch her. "I think you've changed your mind, Rose." No threat, no question, just a familiar voice in a darkened room.

She pivoted, letting her eyes fall over to the window where the soft moorlands still lived under the night sky. Beautiful, as always. The only serenity available that night, save for the sleeping baby in the next room. And even he was a catalyst. "He's my child." She couldn't stop herself, and the tears came unbidden.

"He's mine as well, Rose. Or did you forget that, giving him to another?"

The accusation was too much. Tears like fire in her eyes, she whirled on Siyth. "I've never thought such a thing! I think of you! Do not doubt my feelings for you! But are you so selfish that you can't fathom that I love another?" Silence fell, a deafening presence where only existed Siyth's steady breathing and her own beating heart. Words too terrible to speak.

"Your husband is dead, Rose," Siyth finally said. "He was killed months ago. Your darling Muggle husband dead for a cause that didn't concern him."

Like a knife in her heart. . . A memory, a thousand memories of him, her dearest love. She gasped for air. The wedding ring she still wore was warn on her finger, pleasantly warm. She didn't mean for Siyth to see. For the first time that night she dared face him.

"So it is true then," he whispered, dark eyes glittering like jewels. "You loved Gavin more. You thought my child his."

"Gavin was my husband and my lord!" she fired. "Of course I loved him! But the child is yours, always!" How foolish he was, she thought. How could he stand there like that, a dark sentry, as the tears fell from her eyes! Did he not see her pain? Did he not care? Or perhaps she was the fool to not force herself into his arms. Her head spun; it still ached so from labor. She leaned against the tapestry, trying to regain her balance.

"You shouldn't be up," he said, coming closer. The fear in his voice was evident, reassuring.

Rose slid her fingers down the tapestry, tracing the outline of the hypogriff. "I'd be in bed had you not come, demanding the promise be kept!"

"No one knows about the baby?"

"The midwife and the house-elf. They'll keep a secret. I haven't seen my parents in months." Not since the burial. "I'll tell my mother I lost him." Her sweet, sweet child, lying asleep. Lost to her? Like a piece of her soul gone. She made no effort to hide the sobs. Not even upon hearing of Gavin's death, or her dear brother's, had she cried so, reliving each slice of pain she had ever felt.

"Rose." Siyth's hand brushed at her sleeve. "It doesn't have to be this way. Take me after all. You, me, our child..." His voice shook. "And Gavin's son. I could love him as my own, I could."

"Could you really?" she asked heavily. She tried to stand again, but slipped back into Siyth's strong, familiar arms. She pressed herself against his chest, not caring as her crying grew. He braced his arms around her, his beard dearly scratching her forehead. Could it be so easy? Just a yes, and she'd have it.

"I love you. I always have, and I always will. I want to take care of you and keep you safe."

Such a promise, the only thing anyone could ever truly want. And it sounded so good, honesty she could taste. She pushed herself deeper into his embrace, letting her still-flowing eyes dry themselves on his cloak. From inside came the reply she most wanted to give. "I love you, too."

"Of course you do." He kissed her forehead tenderly and raked his strong, weather-beaten hands through the sweaty red tangles of her hair. She felt so filthy. . .yet he clearly didn't care. "We love each other, what more do we need?"

Yes, yes, perfect logic and what she wanted most. All strength drained hardly missed from her body till only Siyth held her up. She was his, every last part of her. . . till the final note came like searing heat as a flash across her vision, a certain stillness in the air that brought a scent with it like no other.

Gavin.

Rose lifted her eyes immediately, expecting to see a phantom of her dead husband in the face of Siyth. And there it was, a twist in the visage so unlike Siyth but a void of Gavin.

"All of my heart, my bewitching Rose."

"No!" She pushed herself away with all the force she could muster. "Forgive me, but no."

Siyth stood frozen, only his eyes alive with naive confusion. How had he not heard Gavin's voice? "Rose, what is this?"

She sunk to the stone floor, body aching. "I can't."

"Rose." Siyth motioned to lift her up, but she turned away. He stopped again, like a watching snake.

"It's not my love," she tried to explain. "You must know I love you. It's everything else."

"I don't care about Gavin. He is dead. I'm sorry for your loss, but you can't grieve forever."

The room was so hot. Could the window not volunteer a breeze? "He was my husband, and I am his widow. And mother of his heir. I still stand as Lady of Gryffindor. There is no one else. I can't just abandon that role. It's for my son."

"And what of our son?" A blazing reply, emotion ready, ever burning. Siyth raised his hand as if to strike her. He'd never dream of doing such a thing, yet. . . "Our son, our baby, is he to grow up a bastard, belonging nowhere? Unless my deal was complete. . ."

"He'd grow up in your precious wetlands just the same!" Rose screeched. "The family. They think little of me already. Gavin's witch wife. They'd never stand for it, if you came here. They'd hate it. The scandal it would cause. The barbarian ways of the witches, they'd call it." Her voice cracked. "I. . .I can't give that to Ricky."

"Not even for me?" He was like a wounded wolf, his voice the most mournful sound she had ever heard.

How she hated to hurt him! She'd sooner stab herself in the heart. But love was not always to choice, and there were others' lives to consider but hers and Siyth's. "I couldn't do that."

"But ours. . ." It was now a threat. "I haven't even seen him. Perhaps you could pass him off as Gavin's. . ."

"No. He looks too much like you." And what scandal would that cause? She sank further till she nearly lay on the chill stones, fresh sobs wrenching themselves from her throat. But could she stab herself. . .

Siyth read her mind. "And what shame would that bring to a silly Muggle Christian family? Give him to me. I will raise him. With me he will not be Lady Gryffindor's bastard. I hold no wealth or title, but I have love for the child. He will not be a bastard, I promise that." Then he knelt beside her. "Unless you'll come with me. Does Godric really need all this?"

His hand reached for hers, and she grabbed his desperately. So rough and warm. And again came Gavin unbidden. How foolish to be haunted by a memory.

"I told you once before; I am the Lady of Gavin Gryffindor."

"A Muggle!" Snorting he tossed her hand away. "I see how it is. Your choice is clear. I offer you all the love I have, and more to your children. Yet you reject it, foolish girl."

Outside fresh lightning tore at the sky.

"How much did you love your Muggle husband when he lived yet you were with me?"

"Siyth, no," Rose begged through her tears, clasping again in vain for his hand. She touched only air, cold and pulsating.

He continued as if she had not spoken. "If you do not return my love, then honor my request. No one knows of the child, you say. Then give him to me. At least someone will have the benefit of my love."

"Not my baby!" she shrieked. "He is mine." Whatever power of love and creation Siyth had given to the baby, the boy was still hers, scarred in her heart the moment the midwife placed him in her waiting arms. No, long before that. What she had held and treasured against everything for so many moons was her life. With a deep breath of all she had in her, she apparated into the next room, the little nursery prepared for her children. Were it only enough. The protection spell placed over the cradle was powerful, but Siyth was a talented wizard.

The cradle was still safe, a charm keeping it gently rocking. A fine cradle, made by her brother Caspian for her fist son. Gavin's son. Fatigued, she clasped at the cradle and let her breath slow to normal as she gazed at the tiny newborn sleeping soundly. She brushed his cheek gently with the tip of her finger. Such a beautiful baby, soft, plump, and ready with impressive wisps of black hair. Definitely not hers but a solemn protest against the fair visages of her own family. Nor was it Gavin's. The dark features could only come from Siyth. May the child be one day as handsome as his father, and better suited for love.

"What is his name?" Siyth. Of course he would have followed her. His anger was gone, replaced by a gentle awe praising the baby.

Rose slowly turned to him, hands still gripping the cradle. "Salazar," she replied thoughtlessly. "His name is Salazar."

"Salazar," he repeated softly, tasting the name. "Salazar Slytherin. A good name. You have good taste, Rose." He moved silently to the other side of the cradles, eyes always on the baby. His actions of only moments ago lost themselves in an aura of utter devotion, the pride of a father.

This is how it should be, Rose realized, her heart pounding. Two parents over a cradle, feeling only a love for their creation and each other.

"I can raise him," Siyth declared. "I've always wanted to be a father. Perhaps he won't have the same wealth as your other son has, but he will be raised well. I can promise you that." He moved from the cradle and moved shadow-like across the room, half-speaking to the wall.

"I don't doubt this," Rose replied, her gaze on Salazar who stirred in his sleep. "But I won't give him up. I can't. . . Siyth, I've already held him!"

"I make my offer a final time, despite your refusals to come with me."

Another blow of weakness struck her, slicing through her body like a knife. The cradle was her only support. Oh, Siyth, she thought. I love you so much. But what is this darkness that keeps me back?

"You are silent far too long," came the reply. Calm, firm, and despondent.

Something inside of her screamed in pain. She turned around. "Siyth, please!"

He was gone. All that was left were the scattered echoes of powerful magic already done.

For a moment she waited, listening. A stirring of magic, a stronger breeze outside. "No." She whirled back on the cradle. The soft folds of the blanket covered nothing but a warm spot where an infant had lain. "No!" She ripped the blankets into the air, thoughts spinning out of control into panic. "No!" With her last bit of strength, she flung the cradle crashing to the floor. Blankets and pillows froze to the bed, charm still in place. But the protection had done nothing.

Her baby was gone, her baby was gone.

She felt part of her die and crumble into ashes that in their own turn smoked and mixed themselves in their own kiln until a flame burned, ready to kill. But it was far too much for her weakened body, and darkness overwhelmed her. The last thing she heard was a voice, screaming words she couldn't understand, and her throat ached.

A light rain had started, a cool presence barely worth attention in the chill mist so common to a night upon those moors. The grasses and heather shifted and rustled under a passing breeze, and a crow sprang into the air, a cawing shadow in the darkness. Such subtle life, yet so powerful, presenting enough force to shield the fleeing man. He was glad of it, and he willed the plants to bend away from his feet to allow him silent passage. Behind him, Gryffindor Castle shrank back like a scolded puppy.

Siyth stopped once to look back at it, and he felt no fear. "You've lost your power over me, Rose," he whispered.

The baby whimpered in his sleep, and Siyth gazed fondly at his son, the tiny infant wrapped warmly in the folds of a cloak.

"My son," Siyth said with renewed amazement at the words. Cautiously he brushed the baby's cheek. "Salazar. Salazar Slytherin, for you are mine. You will accept my love, and I will give it all to you."

But what of the child's mother?

Siyth closed his mind against that thought. Rose had made her decision; she would not fully give her heart. Not the part that belonged to a dead man. A dead Muggle. Siyth had no power there. He knew a woman's heart to be a sacred thing.

Yet he would always love her.

Then another sound broke through the night, scattering the birds and plants and even the rain. Like thunder a voice filled the sky.

_The child meets a crooked path_

_Doom shall greet thy seed_

_With final sin when centuries pass_

_'Tis punishment for thy deed._

For a time the moor was nothing, an empty canyon for a passing river. Siyth waited, his heart pounding furiously, Salazar near fire-warm in his arms. And then the wind resumed, an animal chattered, and Siyth continued onward.


	2. The Stone Place

The grey stone was barely visible through the thick foliage, old moss-wrapped boulders long forgotten now twisted in the powerful clutches of the forest. Few noticed them; they were invisible to the hordes of Muggle peasants, the blind passerbyers who could no longer sense the little magic that had once been granted in their version of the world. Even those that remained sheltered from the Church, free to live their old ways in sight of their Goddess, praised the rare glimpse one of them might be given as an old temple of their own legends. Whatever the reasons, it was accepted fact and common knowledge that the forest held her own secrets that even the most talented wizard dared not read upon.

But this was not one of them. Godric knew the way, as he was sure did many a wizard child who had grown up near the forest. Not that he knew, not in his generation, at least. The secret he had sheltered as his own.. . . he was not so naive as to assume no others knew of it. And yet it was his, in his own possessive way. He had found the way at an early age, more out of the serendipitous play of climbing and tunneling given to small children than any premeditated plan to find the ruins. Now a boy of fourteen years-almost a man-getting there was both simpler and harder. As he wrestled through nets of fresh plants and eons-old trees, he reminisced solemnly of the efficiency of small size. But instead he wielded more strength, always helpful in itself. Branches, furious at the intruder, whipped and scratched at him as he tumbled over fallen logs, but he whispered the charm to keep them at bay. They sullenly obeyed, drifting back into the shadowy green like banished phantoms.

Not that Marigold cared. He could her climbing after him as chaos amid the serene trees, occasionally cursing in disgust at what she considered dirt and weeds. He couldn't imagine what else she might have expected.

"Ricky!" she shrieked, yanking her dress from the snarling branches of a tree. "I changed my mind! I want to go home!"

"Then go." The reply was a taunt, the jest he knew Marigold recognized and still was tormented by. He laughed as he watched her face turn red with anger to near matching her vivid hair. "Go back and tattle to my mother, and I'll return when I return."

"Tattle!" There was more offense in Marigold's voice at the suggestion she would commit something so blatantly infantile than fury at her position. "Ricky, I would never-I'm not a child."

If only she were, a younger playmate for him, still interested in a spoil of adventure before the expectations of lordship were final. Godric had always wished for a sibling, but he knew to consider himself lucking to have Marigold, as obnoxious as she was. His mother's baby sister, she was a year older than him and already the subject of a family debate concerning marriage. That brought with it the demand that she behave as ladylike as possible, but the lack of peers around the Evans manor made her only too open to Godric's escapades. And so they were friends, albeit the friendship based on desperation, age, and the granted bond of family.

One thing was for certain-he wouldn't be letting Marigold leave on her own, and he knew she wouldn't leave without him. She had yet to master Apparation, and though the Evans manor was not far, it was hardly proper to leave a girl, even a witch, alone in the woods. He knew her far tool well to worry about her. At least, that's what logic told him. But he still stood in child-like awe of the woods. They held the ruins. . .what else did they hide?

"I'm sorry," he apologized., stopping at the gnarled root of an ancient oak to wait for her. It still lived, breathing out its own fresh, woody scent. "I know you won't tattle."

Marigold snorted, but continued toward him, tossing her thick mane of red hair over her shoulder. "You better not think so. But. . ." the familiar look of fearful impatience overcame her. "Please, Ricky, let's go back. I know Rose wouldn't like this."

"She doesn't mind." He did not know if that were true or not. He knew his mother had been to the ruins before-that much had entered her stories, the knowledge of true experience scattered like raindrops in the stale tellings of what every other child around knew. But did she know her son had actually found them? "I don't understand why you are so afraid. We've been here before."

"I know, but-"

He rolled his eyes and started again into the trees. "You did bring your wand, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. I'm not a fool."

He smiled. So she was prepared. That meant she planned to follow him every step of the way, like she had done so many times, nearly each time he and his mother had visited the Evans manor. "Then there's nothing to worry about."

Marigold groaned but followed Godric determinedly toward the ruins. It was a silent march, broken only once by a bird springing like sparks into the air.

Then, barely perceptible, the air warmed, a gentle mist sliding from before them.

Godric closed his eyes to it, enjoying the sensation on his skin. "We're almost there."

"I know," Marigold replied softly. Whatever qualms she had held were gone.

The forest did not clear the way, but the rare beams of sunlight that made their ways in revealed more of the rock, giant grey boulders somewhat green with furry moss and tree-shadow.

With a shout Godric rushed forward, dodging the obstacles before him with all the clumsy skill he could muster. It made no sense, the excitement he felt each time upon reaching the old foundation.

"I forgot how dull it is," Marigold said in the false distaste Godric immediately saw through. Her brown eyes, not unlike Godric's, scanned the tiny area, taking in the haphazard pile of boulders and grass-covered marks of the foundation.

She would admit to nothing pleasing her, Godric thought. "I heard you still might find ashes under the stones. They're what make the heat."

"Ashes?" Marigold frowned. "It's been centuries; there wouldn't still be ashes around. Would there?"

He laughed and climbed onto one of the boulders. "I didn't think you believed in the old phoenix alters. That this is one of them."

"Well. . . what else could it be?"

"A phoenix alter. Uncle Jonas spoke of them. A long time ago, ancient wizards built them for the birds."

She clambered up next to him, forgetting the threat of damage to her dress. "I know. You've told me every time we've come here. And Jonas speaks to me as well."

"But don't you find it interesting?"

"I think it silly. A phoenix will burn wherever he will burn. Why build an alter for the creatures? Perhaps that is why they are no longer built."

"Mm." He ran his hand along the warm, cracked stone. The aura of magic was still strong, pulsating through the air. Why could Muggles not sense it? "Why not build them?"

She gave a small shrug of indifference, turning her gaze to the canopy of leaves above. "They're phoenixes. They die and are reborn. Call me a foolish girl, but to me they seem a symbol of hope. Which is why the Fighters now are so fond of them. They can survive anywhere. To think they can only burn in a certain spot takes all meaning away."

Godric cringed inwardly. The logic was convincing, a perfect example of Marigold's soundness. Only she could come up with something to berate the divinity of the ruins. He turned from her, frowning. "I"m sure the wizards who built them had their reasons."

"They certainly are romantic, though," she mused. "I"ll give them that much. It would be lovely to come here with someone. . . special."

He choked back the laugh that would have earned him a stinging slap from Marigold., but failed in keeping back a smile. "Has my grandfather picked a suitor for you yet?" Such womanly gossip would not usually interest him, but Marigold was merely an object of teasing.

She didn't so much as blush, only shook her head. "Some have come, all of good wizarding families. Father wants me to select someone, if I can." She sighed. "They're all so dull. And one. . .I'm sure he had troll-blood."

"You're already trollish enough, Marigold."

He watched her flinch as she chose to ignore the statement. "Rose was allowed to pick a husband. She didn't choose a wizard at all, but a Muggle."

"My father," Godric said automatically. A title more than a name, one with little personal meaning. He had no memory of a father. Far back there were his mother and the house-elf Grimop, the loving faces of his mother's family, the rarer but just as loving faces of his father's relatives. Most of the time he simply forgot about the necessity of a father. "He was murdered." A simple fact given voice.

Marigold's eyes flashed in surprise. "What do you bring that up for?"

Was he supposed to feel sadness? "I don't know. It's much of what I heard about him. You've heard the stories."

She nodded, more somber. "Mother speaks of it sometimes. Like she speaks of my brother Frederick. I don't remember him, either." Her voice was cutting yet flat, like a dull knife. She clearly wished to return to the topic of marriage.

It was a strange topic, the deaths of family. Scarcely more than a family story that had happened before their time. Godric shifted his gaze to the surrounding trees, still even against the wind he heard above. It was difficult to see in them-only trunks and branches and the darkness beyond them. Except. . . he squinted. A trick of the light, perhaps? The little light given.

The shape moved again, a darker substance against the shadows.

Marigold froze. "Ricky?" He motioned her to be silent, but panic filled her eyes. "You see something?"

He nodded. Much of him felt so calm, yet his heart raced beneath it all. Logic told him everything... others had to know of the ruins. But it was his spot, a place he shared only with Marigold. That someone else might know of it. . . a personal attack! He carefully rose to his feet. "Who's there?"

No reply, except a faint stirring of leaves.

He felt something tight at his arm; Marigold, clutching him.

"Ricky, who is it?"

"I don't know." His want was in the pocket of his robe, already warm with expectant magic. "Stay here. I'll go see." He made to jump to the ground, but she held him back.

"Don't!"

He shook her away, feeling ridiculous in doing so. She expected his protection, was entitled to it. And yet he threw her back. But. . .he had to know, had to see. He had never been one to sit back. "I'll be back soon."

The shadow moved again, shrinking into the forest, the tell-tale sound of the brush echoing afterwards.

"He's leaving," Godric announced. He had a sudden urge to follow."

"Let's go back," Marigold pleaded.

How easy it would be to follow. . . He stared around him. The ruins. . . they somehow seemed polluted. An unexplained chill in the air-his self, most likely. "We'll go back," he heard himself say. Like defeat.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Salazar had not gone far, darting only enough into the trees that they might provide a better hideout. The girl and the boy-he knew better than to assume they would think him fled. He could still see them from his position, faint figures with firm brown eyes watching him, searching him like willow-the-wisps in the night bog.

Intruders, he thought. Strangers that didn't belong in the woods anymore than he did. But the Stone Place, that had been his. The fen held its own appeal, but it was familiar. The woods, the Stone Place, they were different, magic in their own way. The Stone Place didn't care if he belonged there or not, if he were a poor boy from the wetlands, son of a servant of the wizard Clearwater. It allowed him refuge. His own father knew nothing of it. No one was supposed to know.

Yet the girl and boy did.

Muggles, he supposed. Brats of some Muggle nobleman, capering in the forest. The forest... it still belonged to the wizarding world, the little land that did, that had not been taken away over the centuries, claimed by one group of feuding Muggles or another. The Christians, the others who were swiftly falling under the name of pagan, the pasture folk-Salazar knew he belonged in neither world. His father had spoken of it many times. The wizarding world had always been a separate one and would always be.

How dare Muggles interfere.

He watched them leave, the red-haired girl clinging tightly to the brown-haired boy, and he laughed to himself. They'd leave, they'd forget the Stone Place, and it would become a faint memory soon changed. He might even consider putting a repelling charm on it in the future.

But he couldn't go to the Stone Place. Not now. There was work to be done-for the break he had dared snatched was done. How dare his time be ruined. And soon Master Clearwater would be expecting him.

The branches of the trees scarcely stirred as he disappeared.


	3. Schooling

"The visions are coming back, Uncle." Rose's hands snuck to the sloppy table as she spoke, desperate for a wand to flick the dust from the numerous baubles collected, forgotten, and yet still made priceless by Jonas. Her life as a noble woman had done little to curb some instinct for cleaning, and she had always felt a certain responsibility for her uncle.

"Back?" Jonas' voice lilted, innocence thick. He settled back in his chair, blue eyes snapping to Rose. He was a small man, a feature due to age rather than nature, and seemed but another eccentric attribute shrinking into the cluttered chamber. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She wasn't fooled. With a patient smile she set down a tarnished mirror, varnished surface thick with dust. "Three times in the past month it has come. The same thing as before."

Jonas gave a nod behind his ragged beard and an ambiguous mutter. Hardly helpful.

The mirror was in need of a good cleaning. Though how dare she be concerned with such a trivial matter–that wasn't the reason she had come to visit her uncle. And she knew her uncle far too well to be put off by seeming boredom. The man was sharp in his age, his mind quicker than most. "I'm sure you remember the original. I've told you before." She sighed, remembering the headaches of then, a knife on an unsuspecting psyche. Panic had been the first excuse, the strain of all that had been then. And when the vision had stopped, had faded into nothing, she had shrugged all consideration away. There had been other things to worry about. "I had forgotten them. But you must remember, though. Yet it has been––"

"Fifteen years," he said quickly. The fingers of his gnarled hand stroked absentminded the curved wood of the chair's arm. "Fifteen years ago, and I still remember you running in here in tears like a chimera was after you!"

"You do remember?" She couldn't imagine what he remember. Herself, young. . . something else she had put out of mind. And yet it was flattering to think herself still her uncle's pet.

He smiled. "Of course I do. One doesn't easily forget such dramatics."

"I'd hardly call them such!" She smacked the table top. "Uncle, how dare you change the subject!"

"I dare many things." He gave a deep laugh, too deep for his withered frame. "Why do you worry? This vision–is it the same as before? Exactly?"

The positive reply rose, stopped only by her bitten lip. Before. . . how could she be sure? She shook she her head, wondering. "I . . I paid it no mind before. Other than telling you, of course. And Gavin. But he had no advice. I had a life to live. But. .. . I remember the girl. She was familiar."

"The girl by the lake."

How did the memory come so clear to him? "Yes, the girl. The lake I haven't seen." She closed her eyes, cringing. The fair girl with the yellow hair, soaked, blood streaming from her breast. The girl crying, screaming a name Rose couldn't understand but yet knew it a name. Even now she could hear the terrible sound.

"The same as before." Jonas' voice softened, a solemn speech misplaced in the strange room. "Rosie. . ."

"Why fifteen years?" she asked, abandoning the messy table. "Why now? There is nothing. . . wrong in my life now." Wrong. She wished too late to take the word back, the complaint of a spoilt child making wishes to invisible faeries.

"I can't imagine what you might mean by wrong." The faintest touch of the patronizing, but something she had slowly learned over the years to take. "You're a mother, a lady. I know how you feel about Gavin's family. . ."

"They still seek to take away what belongs to Ricky," she muttered, flinging hersel finto a chair opposite Jonas. Her parents had failed to fill the rest of their manor with the outlandish furniture so common to Jonas' chambers. The oddities were refreshing.

Jonas' nails clicked at the wood, imitating a tune evidently familiar only to him. "One or two hexes. . ."

The laugh was out of her before she understood. "How relishing that would be."

"I have plenty of suggestions." Jonas always did.

"One would hardly know you a Squib to hear you speak so." She laughed again and straightened up. "But that would hardly be proper."

"You and your propiety!" Jonas spat, waving a hand. "Tell me honestly you've done nothing."

"That I can't do."

"How good to hear you admit that."

She wrestled back a smile. "Just don't tell Ricky. I won't have that example before my son. He already has little respect for his father's kin." She tugged at a red curl with studiously before slipping it behind her ear. "Where is that boy?"

"Boy?"

She froze. "Jonas. . . "

Her uncle's face was bitter rock beneath his beard. "He's hardly a boy anymore, Rose. He's fourteen."

Fourteen already? Did all mothers hate children's aging? "That's hardly an adult."

"But close. And if I understand correctly he has progressed further in his studies to a point beyond what many wizards in these parts have achieved."

"I know." She didn't bother to hide the pride in her voice. Ricky had a gift for magic. "I haven't told him so."

Jonas nodded, thoughtful. "That is good. He'll forget himself if he knows his skill. And yet. . . ."

Rose's heart shuddered. "I will not have any son of mine joining the Fighters!"

Jonas stared at her before allowing himself a laugh.

He hadn't led her on, she realized. But he then took advantage of it. How Jonas-like. "Well, I won't!"

"And you best keep it that way. The Fighters are forgetting themselves and their Order." He sighed, laughter fading from his eyes. "Fate doesn't bode well for many of them. But it's not them I speak of. I believe Godric needs further training beyond what you have given him."

She nestled back into her chair, pacified. "I know. I've been meaning to speak to Father. Or Caspian. But Caspian is still in search of a bride.. . ."

"I could teach him. Even as a Squib I know far more than is good for me, I'm proud to say."

"May you never become a full wizard," she replied with a smirk. "But I couldn't put that burden on you."

"Clearwater," he said, as if the name were all the answer necessary.

"Clearwater? Your old friend? You want him to teach Ricky?"

"He already has a student or two, if his claims can be trusted."

Rose had heard many stories of Terminus Clearwater from both her father and Jonas. A great wizard, intent to live and die in the ancient castle near the marshlands. She even remembered visiting him on occasion. "Well, Ricky can Apparate. . ."

"Wonderful!" Jonas clapped his hands. "I'm glad you're making this easy for me."

"But I haven't agreed to--

He cut her off with a quick snake of his head. "Don't worry. Nothing is permanent. But I believe this will be the best choice for Godric. You do trust me, Rosie?"

She stared at him, her mother's uncle, the man who had always been her fountain of knowledge despite his lack of magical skill. She had trusted him with too many secrets to lie now. "Of course I do."

"Good." He settled back, smiling.

She forgot the reason she had come.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Salazar had always hated the Clearwater castle. Supposedly it was of the water, the ice-blue lake that stretched just before the foundations mirroring the tumbling turrets. But that wasn't water. Not truly. It was exposed, naked and weak and ready for any attack. The true water. . . that was invisible, lying in waiting beneath the dusky plants and the trees that stretched like so many bridges over the fen. Hidden. That was wisdom to Salazar. Even inside the castle was the bareness, far too large and cold. As he had done countless times before, he marched down the stone halls, shrugging away the cool flame of the torches. He missed the warmth of the cabin, a fire his father had just built. A place that didn't echo with each footstep.

He stopped before a silver door, all iron down to the carved doorknob. He had permission to enter any time he pleased, but that held nothing over the apprehension he felt. It wasn't his. If he waited long enough, one of the house elves would appear and open the door for him with much apology. He smiled at that thought. That had only happened a few times. . .

But there wasn't time. Lord Clearwater had expected him long ago. Normally Salazar wouldn't care about such trivial things, but when one was dealing with a great wizard like Clearwater. . . Salazar had already devoured too much knowledge to offend such a giver. He put his hand to the cold knob and turned.

A squeal erupted from a corner of the room. "Heather, you didn't tell me it was a boy!"

Salazar nearly fell back as a small figure burst into view, black curls more visible than anything else. "Lord Clearwater!"

The familiar laugh came. Lord Clearwater stood up from his chair, height imposing, and exchanged a grin with a dark-haired woman Jonas had never seen before. "Good of you to join us, Slytherin."

Slytherin. A title normally reserved for his father. Except during studying.

"I had errands for my father." Lying came easy. The little girl gave a shrill giggle.

Clearwater nodded, visibly believing. "Of course, of course. It just gave me more time to become acquainted with this. . ." He paused. "Charming child." He gestured at the little girl, who beamed up at Salazar. "May I introduce Rowena Ravenclaw. And her cousin, Heather Woodkeep."

The woman in the corner bowed. "Terminus has told me much about you, Salazar Slytherin. He thought that you and my cousin must meet."

For what? He stared Rowena. The child could hardly be older than seven or eight.

"I've been showing Lord Clearwater tricks!" she said eloquently with the little sincerity she could evidently muster.

"Tricks?"

Terminus shook his head. "Now, I mean no offense to your own skills. They are still. . . greater than many. But this girl...she can already summon a patronus."

"A patronus?" Salazar stepped back from the girl, who was still grinning at him. "So. . she's not a Muggle?" He hated the word.

"Muggle?" Terminus shook his head while Heather laughed. "I could hardly school a Muggle child."

The realization came quick. "You've taken her as apprentice as well?"

"Yes."

He considered this. Another student. A pesky little girl. For years the training had always been for him alone, and yet. . . yet he found he didn't mind. "Will she listen?"

"She's smarter than she seems," Heather said.

Salazar gazed at Heather for a moment. She was a pretty woman, hardly more than a girl herself. Very pretty. He turned his eyes. Of all things, he was blushing.

She laughed again. "Her parents will do anything to keep her from that Order."

"The Fighters?" he asked. He felt the disproving glare from Terminus, but the slang had become common to many of the more distinguished wizards. At least those against the branch.

"The Order of the Phoenix," Terminus corrected. "Time passes, as it does, and brings with it many changes."

Salazar sighed. The speech was certainly for the benefit of Heather and Rowena. He had heard it far too often, rhetoric that he had come to accept. Yet he had tired of hearing it long ago.

"And one of these changes is these Muggles and their ways. Their Church has grown strong, be that for good and bad for many."

"But our world has always been separate and always will be, so we must keep concern to ourselves." Salazar repeated the last part with Terminus. He agreed, of course. As much as Muggles disinterested him, he still had too little against them to feel much of anything but indifference. The Fighters, like the entire Order, were fools. They'd bring destruction upon themselves.

"Rowena will not be trained to be a fighter," Terminus finished. "Not with her talent."

Salazar looked at the little girl again, who had lost interest in him and was now peering over scrolls near Terminus' chair. He had never had a little brother. Or sister.

But she had better be able to keep up with her training.


	4. Four

Tutoring. Godric hated the word, the concept that called forth too many miserable hours in the company of his father's kin with their subtle remarks and commands of endless wisdom. He could hardly care–they were poisoned by the loss of their precious land and titles, things he had never asked for. And so, after several years, he had learned to ignore most of their comments, filing them off into the thoughts of the young muggle lord he wasn't and gradually the tutoring sessions ended. His mother, of course, had something to do with that, in the way she so tactfully and bitingly flaunted her witchcraft under their noses. They had spent such times laughing over that, during the other lessons with her. The good lessons. Godric had little against his kin, and even liked some of them. But they weren't magic folk, and he knew better than to speak of such around them. And all in all, their training in the ways of their family was the true, painful tutoring.

So why was it again brought?

His mother had announced it, only hours after he and Marigold had returned from the phoenix ruins. His uncle Jonas had immediately sided with her with so much enthusiasm that Godric wondered who had truly had the idea.

He stared hard at the stone walls, thick and cold, wondering what sort of person would live in such a place? Terminus Clearwater. . . that was nothing but a name to him, though he was more than certain he had met the man sometime in his life. But Godric couldn't place him, reducing Lord Clearwater to a simple passing thought of one of his uncle's crazy friends. One would have to be mad to live in such a dank castle. . . Not that Godric hated it; his very bones were twitching for a chance to explore.

A house-elf appeared suddenly in the corridor before him, and Godric jerked to a stop. The creature stared up at him with pale, round eyes.

"Another one?" A male, quizzical in speech. He shook his head. "That master of mine. . . Shaysem can never understand Lord Clearwater."

"Yes, another one, Shaysem," Jonas called from behind. "Though I'm curious to how many students Terminus plans on gathering."

"Students?" Godric echoed in sudden panic. Marigold wouldn't be making a surprise appearance, would she? Though it would serve her right for mocking the announcement.

"Students," Jonas replied brightly, catching up with and passing Godric. "You'd hardly expect yourself to be the only one?"

He hadn't even considered it—the announcement had only come two days before and by all accounts he should have been back in the moorlands instead of wasting himself to another random visit to a place he didn't know. He fell into pace behind Jonas, sidestepping the still-muttering house-elf. He almost feared losing himself in the darkness. "I didn't ask for this, Uncle."

"Of course you didn't. Few people ask for anything that life throws upon them. But in all honesty it's time you have another teacher besides your mother, bless her heart."

"Mother's a fine teacher."

"A fine teacher. . ." A laugh welled up, something that demanded itself not to be heard despite reality. "She is. But do you want to sentence yourself to a life under her? You're the Lord of Gryffindor."

Gryffindor again. How silly names had to matter.

"Believe me, Ricky, you'll need all the training you can get. You're not only a Gryffindor, you're an Evans, and that gives you such opportunity for great things in magic."

And now his mother's family was a name. He swallowed back the smile at his lips, which only edged the irony. "But you're an Evans, and you're a Squib."

Jonas stopped before a door and carefully twisted his gnarled hands around the knob. His laugh was deeper this time, more real. "Ricky, you hardly wish to be like me."

Godric wouldn't mind that.

Jonas pushed opened the door, and light spilled forward into the corridor. "Terminus, my old friend!"

"Aya!" came a shriek that was quickly followed by a yelp of pain.

Godric stared past his uncle into a tiny room ringed with shelves of books and scrolls. An elderly man with a smile like fire was crossing the room, arms outstretched in greeting. Though clearly Godric was not the object of attention. Near the room's back a dark-haired boy lay in a haphazard circle of parchment, vainly trying to push away a small girl. No doubt the source of the chaos. Another girl, older than the other, stood at a safe distance from that, laughing.

The man he took to be Terminus Clearwater immediately set into a discussion with Jonas. Something about. .. Godric didn't bother to listen. He had carefully learned to ignore elders—if it concerned him, he'd know soon enough. He fully entered the room, feeling suddenly quite small. The room, as it was, hid more than he had first realized in a mad semblance to his uncle's chambers. The mess of the girl and boy had made was but a delicate fringe on the room's own bedlam. All sorts of chests and carvings lined the wall, and he thought he could detect a section of tapestry behind a crowded shelf.

"You must be Lord Gryffindor."

He started. It was the older girl, the one not attacking the boy. She stood just before him, barely rising from a curtsey. "Excuse me?"

"Lord Gryffindor," she repeated. "Lord Clearwater mentioned you would be joining us. Since I hardly expect the man you came here with to be a student, it must be you."

He blinked. "Yes. . . I'm Godric Gryffindor." Tutoring. All the mannerisms the other Gryffindor family insisted so much on—he felt them coming, breaking from his mouth like recitations from a popinjay. "I'm pleased to make the acquaintance of a lady like yourself."

She laughed again, a graceful sound far too bright for the chamber, and for a moment he was reminded of some awful flirtation Marigold might pull. But there was something else in her laugh; he couldn't be sure that she wasn't laughing at him. "You've hardly met me, Godric. My name is Helga."

"And. . . your surname?"

"Hufflepuff."

"Helga Hufflepuff." He tried to bite back a laugh, but failed.

Helga wasn't at all perturbed. "My father. . . he lives to the north. I can make that excuse for my name."

His grandmother would have been striking him for sure. "I meant no offense."

"You're an excellent liar." She was rather pretty, he quickly decided in almost a private apology for his rudeness. Not that he dared say now. Long, blonde hair left alone but for a tiny single braid framed a pale face. Her eyes were blue. He wasn't sure why that struck him so rapidly. She wasn't as old as Marigold, he decided, perhaps a year younger than himself.

"You're from the north?" he asked, feeling stupid. "So why are you here?"

She shrugged. "Ask my father."

Behind her, the dark-haired boy had finally managed to push the little girl away. She tried distractedly to regain his attention, but soon gave her own to a bit of parchment. She was a child, Godric thought. She wasn't one of the "other students", was she? There was no time to wonder—the boy was fast approaching him, face alive in amazement.

Helga blushed deeply and stepped aside for the boy. "This is Salazar Slytherin," she explained.

"The other student," Salazar said wonderingly. "I didn't know. . ." He ran a hand through his black hair, shaking his head.

"Salazar," Helga began.

Salazar took a deep breath and grinned. That one smile seemed to take years from him. "I must have hit my head when Rowe jumped on me." He nodded back at the little girl. "The pest. You'll get used to her."

"I think she's sweet!"

"She's done nothing to you. . . ." He met Godric's eyes. "I just thought I had seen you somewhere before. Where are you from?"

"The moorlands," Godric said, though he could hardly see why it mattered. "I'm Godric Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor. . ." Salazar repeated the name to himself, once again his face clouding. "I've heard that name somewhere. Are you a lord?"

"A Muggle lord. Whatever that's worth?"

"Muggle?" The grin returned. "You're a Muggle?"

Another laugh from Helga.

"I'm not a Muggle," Godric said, feeling himself smile. Muggle was somewhat of a joke between he and his mother. After all, he had inherited her magic despite whatever his father had been.

"My cousin's a Muggle." The little girl had left her parchment and now tried to worm her way into the conversation. "Heather's a Muggle, and she still thinks they're funny."

"Muggles aren't funny, Rowena," Helga said kindly.

"Yes, they are," Salazar and Godric said in unison.

That made Rowena laugh. "I like Heather. She says she has a wizard suitor. She likes wizards and witches best."

"What about you, Rowe?" Salazar asked, bending down until he was eye level with the little girl. "Do you like wizards?"

She made a face. "I like them all but you."

Salazar stuck his tongue out here, sending her into another round of giggles, then stood up. "I'm going to predict that she's smarter than you, Lord Gryffindor."

Godric stared again at the little girl, seeming but one of his little cousins with her dark curls and sweet face. "So she is a student?"

"The four of us," Helga said with a sigh and a nod at Salazar.

He had come late, Godric realized. He had missed something.

The drone of noise in the background came to a hault; Jonas and Terminus had stopped talking and were watching the little group with rather snake-like interest. This was it.

"I see you've met our final student," Terminus said. "Godric, good to see you again. You have grown well."

"Though I suppose you'd prefer to see him as something more than the Lord of Gryffindor," Jonas said with a smirk.

Terminus responded with a shrug, scarcely throwing attention to Jonas. He stared down at Godric, the fire moving to his eyes. "All I expect is a proper student. I'm prepared to teach you what I know. Speak with the others—they'll tell you what I expect."

Godric's tore his gaze from Terminus and met Salazar's eyes. He did so instinctively; despite Helga and Rowena it seemed only natural that Salazar be there when he was, for whatever unexplained reason. Salazar was already watching, waiting, though all he gave was a shake of his head.

Useful, he decided.

"Will this be it, my lord?" Helga asked.

Terminus paused. "Probably," he said after a thoughtful moment. "I no of no one else in need of a teacher. Now, Rowena, please pick up that disaster."

Rowena slid a wand—a slender bit of wood still seeming far too large for her—and waved it at the spilt parchment and books. "Accio!" The mess leaped into her hands. Then, docile, she crossed the room and set them carefully on the shelf.

A simple spell. But performed by so young a child?

"I told you to watch for her," Salazar whispered. "Your lordship can't be beaten by a small girl." Utter jest, no offense meant.

"And now we'll return to the lesson," Terminus said, sitting down in a chair near the hearth. "Godric, I expect you to keep up, for I have no idea what your mother has already taught you."

It turned out to be a review of alchemy. One of his mother's favorite topics. Even Salazar seemed bored, and soon, just beneath Terminus' eye, swung a roll of parchment in impression of a sword. Godric followed suite. Terminus seemed to care more for keeping Rowena's attention that worrying about the others, and soon a mock battle had begun, parchment barely scraping the stone floor where they sat. Helga watched, smiling with hindered amusement. Godric was just about to dare a jaunting attack at Salazar's arm when the door burst open. His own paper sword fell, and an elusive attack on Salazar's part won.

"Heather!" Rowena screeched.

"Rowe's Muggle cousin," Salazar said.

She was beautiful, Godric realized. The same eyes and dark hair as Rowena's—would Rowena turn out her twin? She nearly ran into Jonas, who stood just next to the door.

"Jonas!" Her voice was a shout purposely hushed, and she nodded at the staring room, cheeks flushing prettily before turning back. "I thought you left already. . . " Her words dropped into the inaudible. Yet she didn't speak long, and soon had taken another chair across the room.

"Lover's notes," Helga whispered.

"To my uncle!"

Salazar doubled over.

She choked back a laugh, blushing under Terminus' stare. "He's the messenger. Rowena mentioned a wizard lover. Unless it is him."

Godric could only shake his head.

"It probably has something to do with us," Salazar said, gasping from laughter. "The four of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe I'm trying to teach," Terminus said.

Salazar nodded gravely. "I'll explain later," he muttered to Godric.

And the alchemy resumed.

Finally, Salazar dared speak while Terminus answered one of Rowena's many questions. "He's not just teaching us."

Helga shook her head. "They're both up to something. Lord Clearwater and your uncle."

"And what would that be?"

Neither had an answer.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It couldn't be. Rose flung herself into her pillow in some sick attempt to have the cloth stop her tears. For all these years, it had been but her secret. Of all the fates to bring this about. . . her feelings mixed and tore at each other. What was wrong, what was right? Was she supposed to be happy about this? With a deep breath she released herself, sucking in what air she could through her tears. Ricky's account had to be correct. Salazar. . .her Salazar was now more than her dream. What had ended so long ago was back.

She hadn't given him up. By the divine right of the mother she couldn't give him up. Siyth had tried to hide him, set up his own web of magic. She couldn't take him back, no. But she had seem him, had watched him grow. And even then she had doubted how real it all was. But now he had been thrown into whatever her uncle was plotting. Along with Godric.

Jonas didn't know, did he? She often wondered how much the dottering old man truly watched.

Siyth. . . It wasn't him, was it?

How she missed Siyth. How she missed Gavin. Both had left, and she had survived. Survived until this very moment.

And so her sons had met. Why now?

Didn't Jonas understand? What was he doing?


	5. Night

'_"From all that I'm losing, much more will I gain."_

'--Martina McBride, "From the Ashes"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

'"Lord Clearwater has taken quite an interest in you."

An interest. What a word to describe the lessons. He titled his spoon and watched vaguely as the stew dribbled back into his bowl. "Lord Clearwater likes me, Father."

Siyth made a gruff, intelligible reply, the most to be expected from him. At times. Nearly thirteen years and Salazar could not claim to completely understand his father. There were times of remarkable eloquence followed by the speech of bears, but translating could be done.

He thought of offering to stop if it took away from necessary chores, but deciding against it; he knew it would be a lie.

Siyth took another bite of stew, then let his spoon drop to the table. "Lord Clearwater is our master, and I have no desire to go against his wishes. And he is a fine wizard. A notable one. Might even be able to put himself with them Fighters, if he wished."

Salazar had never heard his father speak of the Order. Not wishing to show surprise, he turned his gaze on the flickering hearth. It was smaller than the one in the lesson room, and in many ways much cozier. Or it had once seemed. He still preferred this little fire with it's warmth and the cluttered snugness of the cottage.

"Whatever Clearwater calls you to do, Salazar, you will do."

"He admires my talent." A truth, and a full truth at that. No sense to bring up the lessons. Terminus had said nothing against sharing them, but Salazar saw little reason that his father should have to know. They lived in the swamp, the dusky fenland stretching from the murkier fringes of the lake. The place of swamp magic, the Muggles said, and they would steer the horses away. It was too late to bring forth what was to be kept secret. And there was no harm in it. If Salazar was not to know his father, his father did not have to know him.

"He has said nothing to me of what he does with you," Siyth continued, his rough fingers tracing shapes into the table's grainy surface. "And it does not matter what he does, for he is your master and mine."

Salazar said nothing.

"I do like to imagine he teaches you something, or puts you to some use." Behind him, the flames bit into a log, and it fell with a fountain of ashes.

Sometimes the flames looked like snakes.

Salazar gave a laugh, perfected to feign comfort. Which he did feel, when he thought about it. It was a game, suddenly. A game to see how long he could keep his father in the dark. Wouldn't Godric be pleased to hear about it. "Of course the time is useful! Do you think Lord Clearwater would let his servants lounge about?"

A thoughtful smile curved behind Siyth's beard. "True. Though I wish he would. For me, anyway. You're still considered a child for a few years yet—more time is yours."

"I can work longer." He bit into the stew, tasting the spicy meat of the hare Ethelinda had caught. He could still see the fight in his mind, the way Ethelinda's lithe green body had coiled so about the rabbit's quivering body. It was sickening, he supposed—death always was. But he himself had killed hares before, and she had owed him a favor besides. He might ask her to catch another one, but not kill it. A baby one, brown and furry. A pet for Rowena.

Siyth laughed, echoing through the cottage. "You could, but we both know perfectly well that you won't. Isn't that right? There'll be plenty of time for that later, unless, of course, Lord Clearwater makes some sort of grand wizard from you. A regular member of the Fighters."

"I would hate to join them."

The laugh stopped, seemingly cut off as Siyth's stern gaze fell on him. "They do what they feel is necessary, be it good or bad in the end. I'd hate just as much to see you join them."

The fire wasn't warm enough.

"Besides, there is only so much I can teach you. If Lord Clearwater is instructing you, I bless you both."

A blessing. A blessing toward what he didn't know. Salazar couldn't imagine what his father would think of the lessons. How dare he allude to such, dare think that there was anything more than private service between servant and master. For a moment Salazar considering telling everything. But the moment passed.

"Are you alone, in these?"

Four students, Salazar thought. Four students and one eccentric Muggle woman. And Godric Gryffindor. A wizard, hardly the brat of a Muggle nobleman. Salazar couldn't help but liking him for coming off as such. "Yes." He finished his stew in a few hurried bites and stood up. The cottage was much too confining. "I'm going outside."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The window was open, the expensive glass panes flung wide until they were caught by the grabbing trees. Her father would be furious, if he saw. Naira would also be, though more for fear of a sudden attack upon Helga's health than any damage to Lord Hufflepuff's silly windows. The latter was more comforting, a loving thought that someone might care more about a living girl than what any highly paid artisan could churn out. But neither mattered; they weren't there, but across the house in the hall, where Naira was certainly trying to calm Lord Hufflepuff's temper. They couldn't see, and Helga preferred the windows open. They were enchanted in themselves, from their placement in the tower, painting nearly the entire valley before her. And it was real magic of a real valley, not some silly illusion. It seemed all so close from the window, so much that she could almost spread out her arms and leap into the window and go through it all and never have to see her father again.

She hadn't intended what had happened at dinner. Not with any intensions she felt, at least, for she hated to upset him and despite everything else she supposed she did love him. And he was good to her, mostly. She was his pet and he could shower her with pretty things and sweet names, but with a sudden twist of the day it would all be over with a plunge in her potential. What did it take for her to please him?

'She crossed the room to her bed and punched the pillow, wishing it might be his head. Then she threw it back, shocked at herself. What reality was she trying to bring upon herself? It all came from within her, those moments, from a well deep inside that she fought so hard to keep covered. It was a small one, nothing damaging. But she hated it even more than she hated him.

Perhaps that's what made it all the worse.

She looked sadly at the pillow before smoothing out its wrinkled coverings, then returned to the window. Night was coming, and with it the cold hair that slid from the mountains. Carefully, she climbed into the frame. How easy it would be to jump. Transform and jump into the tree and scurry down it and into the trees and wherever else she might like to go. It'd be so simple. She could vent everything that night and return to Lord Clearwater's the next afternoon, just as her father wished.

She did want to please him.

And she liked the lessons. She liked learning, liked the way she worked so hard for the new spells and how good they then were. The challenge was the best part. And she liked the others. Rowena the pest. Godric. Salazar. . . the strangest one of them. So much like any other peasant boy. But then he would pause after a game, and his face would grow thoughtful. . . she wondered about that. What did he think about? Terminus?

Despite what she liked, she still didn't trust the man.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Heather!" Malak's voice cut through the garden into Heather's thoughts like a knife. She lifted her head in time to see him dart between the trees of the garden, unbound hair flailing behind him like a horse's tail. A horse's tale, all dirty and sweaty. She smiled at that thought, though she knew Malak would be sure to keep his hair very clean. Like his face. Too clean, she decided, gleaming like too much water in the moonlight.

She forced a smile and crumpled the letter into her fist. The parchment near burned at her skin. It should be out and read again. She wanted to so much, though she had all but memorized each word. "Hello, Malak. I wasn't aware of your arrival."

He stopped before her, panting for breath. His shirt clung to his body. How long had he been running?

She frowned and with one hand tilted his chin up. "You poor thing," she murmured. "You should sit down. Though I admit I'm quite flattered to have one chasing after me."

"I'd chase you to the moon, Heather."

She glanced up at it, waning and pale. If only he would go there. She sat down in the grass beneath the laurel, spreading her skirt around her so the folds would rise and fall like mountains. The letter could easily be tucked between them, hidden from Malak's eyes. "You don't have to do that. The marriage ceremony is approaching soon. The betrothal was made years ago."

"Heather," he began, reaching for her hand. She let him take, though his might as well have been that of a leper. "Surely you don't think of it as just a betrothal."

"I'm sure you're perfectly aware of my feelings for you," she said bitterly. He held her hand, wasn't that enough? "And I'm also perfectly happy to marry you, once I feel that Rowena is settled." A lie. A lie a thousand times over.

"Rowena." Malak sighed deeply. "To think of your sweet cousin trapped in the confines of that demon."

"Demon?" Without thinking she drew back her hand.

He didn't reach for it again. "It's much too dark for you to be out here. We should go inside."

"I can see fine, Malak. Since when do you refer to those people as demons?"

He sighed again, a sound like a covering over steam. "You know I don't stand with the Christians on this, but my family has never been kind toward them. Since when do you sympathize with them? I'm aware of your aunt's choice. . . ."

"I'm not sympathizing with them." She stared at where she had hidden the note; the faintest shadow of a corner spilled forward onto her skirt. "But you know I adore Rowena, and her mother and father feel safe when I take her to the lake manor."

"Don't you remember why you agreed in the first place?"

She did, of course, yet it was a grey memory. Did she really remember?

"It's your task, Heather." His tone had changed, from the simpering betrothed to her master. Again. "You've heard the rumors. The Phoenix people. The Fighters, they call themselves. Burning villages with that magical fire that can't be put out."

She studied his face, trying to decide if he were serious. "That isn't true! You can't prove heresay!"

"And I can't prove it otherwise. I understand they have a certain name for us."

"Muggle." She suppressed a giggle as she said it. "I find it a sweet name."

"Sweet." He gave a dry laugh. She could now barely see his face. "Heather, I am still counting on you to do this. To tell me."

The night was growing colder. She breathed it in, relishing the coolness. "Nothing is happening. I'd tell you if something was."

"Would you?" Another laugh, like bitter smoke. "And I await the day you do."

In a flash she saw it. The slit of metal above his boot, lit up for a moment by what moon there was.

No, she thought. No, no, no. But she couldn't speak it aloud.

He looked at her, and knew what she saw. She could hear it in his mind. "You like it?" he asked, once again the devoted lover. "I could give you one, instruct you how to use it. You could make my job so much easier."

"I'd never touch a weapon," she managed.

"Hm." Then he reached over and pressed his lips against hers. Painful. The hardness of his teeth crushed into her.

"Malak!" She shoved him away, nearly falling herself into the laurel. "How dare you! My father. . ."

"You wouldn't tell him. Not when there is so much more I can do."

She was on her feet, the letter once again in her fist. "Wait until the wedding," she snapped. "Then I'm yours entirely."

He stood up next to her, safely distant. "I await that as well, then."

Perhaps she should have accepted a knife. . .

"Come inside," he said gruffly. "It isn't proper that we be out here." Without waiting for her, he started toward the manor.

She wasted a moment watching him go, then quickly flipped the letter out before her.

_My Beloved Heather,_

_Jonas laughs at our game, but he loves to play the messenger.. . ._

She read the rest of it, feeling the laughter bubble up inside her. She was but a silly child, and she didn't care. She pressed the parchment to her breast, loving its strange warmth.

"Caspian," she whispered.


	6. Sticky Bread

Several months had marked their change upon Terminus' lessons, taking the silly and mindless reviews of what any proper wizarding child would know—at least in Godric's experience—into a truly deeper magic. Nearly each class would bring with it a new philosophy matched with intense practice of what had already been taught. Learning was suddenly vicious, and Terminus and Jonas seemed to grow only more pleased each thing they threw at the students. A challenge in every sense of the word, and yet Godric found himself not caring. Granted, he didn't hold the same naiveté as little Rowena, who happily took everything as fun games that she could squeeze into whatever length of attention span she felt like demonstrating that day. But there was a certain joy in it, though perhaps extracted from the contrast against the demands of his father's kin. And surely it was more than that—to put it simply, he liked magic.

Admittedly, there were times when he wanted nothing more than to throw one of his newly learned curses into Terminus' face, or see if any hex would force some semblance of skill from Jonas' blissful Squib state. He and Salazar spent afternoons discussing what combinations would have the most entertaining effects, even occasionally sending out a blast that was quickly covered with an apology and the stubborn lie that they were only practicing, which was taken well enough. Rowena was an excellent cover as well—the adults doted on her and as she was always willing for a new game she was sometimes used as the spell's medium. Helga never participated, though Godric often heard her bell-like giggling, overhearing a plot.

The magic seemed to come harder to Helga, though when performance was demanded she was as good as anyone. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her teeth clenched or muttering as she again set herself to master a particular concept. Her eyes were different in those moments of determination, a darker blue, intense like the noon sky. . . he didn't know why he noticed. At times when she was nearly in tears he offered his help, and she would take it. Yet she never asked for it.

"She's doing fine, Ricky," Salazar hissed one day as Godric returned from helping Helga. "She knows what she is doing."

Godric gave a small shrug and glanced back at Helga, who was now effortlessly scribbling down the possible ingredients for the spell Terminus had just demanded. "I just wanted to check."

"And you checked." Salazar gave a curt nod and pushed a strand of black hair from his eyes. Parchment lay on the stone floor before him. "See this."

"Salazar. . . " Godric feigned a sigh, but inside he was grinning as he picked up the parchment. An invisibility charm, it seemed at first, but. . . no. He pressed his fingertips into the grainy parchment and swiped downwards, and in seconds Salazar's spidery writing was clear. He read. "Did you make this up?"

"Make what up?" Rowena's cousin Heather Woodkeep had just entered the room, a slice of sticky bread and a letter in hand. Terminus and Jonas were off discussing something, and she had been assigned to mind the class, to make sure they were studying rather than playing. So far she hadn't done much of her job.

Salazar reddened, as he nearly always did around Heather, Godric thought wickedly. "It's. . . a potion. To show Lord Clearwater." He glanced at Godric, who nodded.

"I see." She slid into her usual chair at the edge of the room and opened her letter.

Rowena's eyes were fixed hungrily on the sticky bread. "Can I have that?"

A simple question. Heather's hand jerked, and the letter slid down her skirt to the floor. "I. . . oops." She swept up the parchment, taking great care of the bread in her lap. "No, Rowena. I'm sorry. But this treat here is for Lord Clearwater." Her voice melted into the enunciated vibration nearly everyone reserved for the girl.

"But—"

"The house-elves baked an entire pan, though. Perhaps we can sneak some before we leave." She smiled at the other three. "I'm sure you all could."

"That won't be hard," Salazar said. "The house-elves throw nearly everything at me every time I come here. Don't worry, Rowe, you and I can go get some together. Later."

"Oh." Rowena returned to her scroll.

Godric wondered if she'd remember the sticky bread, though he decided he'd get a slice after lessons. He returned to Salazar's list. "Ashes. . . do you mean the ordinary kind?"

Salazar shook his head and pointed to a small note. "But I know where we can get some."

So did Godric. In fact, the thought had occurred to him as soon as he had read the spell. But. . . he almost couldn't tell. Some secrets couldn't be told, no matter how silly and obvious to the world he knew them to be. Marigold barely appreciated the place, and she had grown up with Godric. "Where?"

The flash died from Salazar's eyes as the door opened again. Terminus had returned.

"Apparate to the lake's edge," Salazar murmured, yanking the note from Godric's hand. "At midnight, if you can."

Of course he could.

"Did they actually work on the question?" Terminus asked Heather as he strode over to his own chair.

"Hm?" She didn't bother to look up—evidently her letter was more captivating than Terminus. "Oh, yes. They were wonderful."

"What about his bread?" Rowena jumped to her feet, black curls bouncing like storm clouds at her shoulders. "The sticky bread you wouldn't let me have!"

So much for remembering.

"Yes. . . ." She spoke like air, and carefully folded the letter and tucked it beneath the chair's cushion. And there she sat, the bread still on its napkin nestled into her lap.

"Sticky bread?" With a laugh Terminus turned to her. "I am rather hungry, now that you mention it."

"The house-elves were baking, they sent up a slice for you." She finally met his gaze. "I'm sorry, but I'm a bit light-headed. Rowena? Could you be a dear and give this to Lord Clearwater?" She stretched out her hand with the bread.

Rowena leaped to her feet and darted to her cousin. But before she was there Heather's arm trembled, and the bread fell to the floor as a pile of mash.

"You broke it!" Rowena declared with a violent gasp.

A blush crept over Heather's features. "Oh, dear. I'm very sorry, Lord Clearwater. I doubt you want to eat it now."

He laughed again and shook his head. "Don't fret, Lady Woodkeep. I'll just have the house-elves send up another slice, though I hate to upset them with treating their first offer in such a way."

"I'll eat it," Rowena volunteered. "I'm hungry."

"No!" Heather, in a sudden cure, leaped to her feet. "Rowena, you know it's dirty now, it's—"

Rowena stared at her, playing the older cousin herself. "I'm only kidding." With a dramatic sigh she sat back down.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The sticky bread was quite good when it wasn't mashed on Terminus' floor, Godric decided as he Apparated back into his own room at the Gryffindor Castle. He was still eating his first slice, though several more were tucked into his pockets. It felt refreshingly childish to steal again, though taking food from house-elves could hardly be called stealing. The term still added the extra flavor, however. He emptied them onto his bed and set out into the corridor, thinking.

He'd be committing another crime tonight, but one he pulled fairly often, when he and Marigold wanted to play. Of course, that had been when they were younger and she wasn't so set on picking a suitor—why, her brother Caspian was in his late twenties and still unmarried. He supposed he might drag her out again, someday, but Salazar would be more interesting, wherever he was leading Godric.

Phoenix ashes, came the thought. All for a silly prank hex? Godric wasn't complaining, but why must it be phoenix ashes? Couldn't they find some other bird and set fire to it and collect those? He didn't think he'd dare, or could ever be so heartless, but it was still a possibility. Salazar would surely be up for that, with the recklessness that made him so interesting. Marigold would never imagine such a thing. And yet Godric had actually shown her the old alter ruins. The only place he could think of to find phoenix ashes. Salazar couldn't know about that place, it was impossible. Every wizarding child around, in each generation for years, knew about it—but Salazar still couldn't know. It was the secret Godric wished he could guard forever.

His mother's voice echoed through the empty corridors. She was speaking to someone, and hardly bothering to whisper. Godric swallowed the last bite of sticky bread and stopped before the corner that circled into the main hall. He could glimpse her, pacing the floor, long red skirts trailing behind her.

". . . hardly a romantic notion, Caspian, whatever you may think!" Her voice was high, thick with the berating venom Godric had himself felt before. And she was laying it into his uncle Caspian.

Godric took another step, trying hard to keep his feet silent. Caspian was indeed there, black robes near drowning out his paler features. Godric liked to think he looked similar to Caspian, and in some ways he supposed he did. The eyes, of course, were the same, though Godric had missed the Evans' red hair. Yet he was still growing, and he planned to pass Caspian in height. Eventually. Caspian stood firm against his elder sister's chaotic pacing, a frown set on his smooth face.

"I seem to remember that you married a Muggle man, once upon a time," he said. "How is this any different?"

Rose whirled on him, eyes blazing as she glared up into his. "Different? You very well know the difference! Caspian, Lady Woodkeep is betrothed to another. Betrothed! Do you have any idea what stake Muggles can put such things?" She shook a finger at him and swept back into her march.

"Not care for honor as you do."

"Honor? Eloping like this. . . why, it could be likened unto kidnapping!"

Kidnapping? Godric felt all the blood in his body rush like a wildfire into his head. He leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on his mother and uncle.

She continued. "Caspian, when Father dies, you will be responsible for the Evans land."

Something akin to a growl escaped Caspian's throat. "It wasn't supposed to be me. If Frederick. . . ."

"Frederick was murdered!" Rose's voice cracked. "I remember that as well as you do." She angrily brushed a hand past her eyes.

"Sometimes I doubt it."

She stopped and stared at him, chest heaving. "How dare you say that."

He shrugged. "I take it back, then."

"Thank-you."

"But I am sorry I told you of my plans."

"I would have been happier not hearing them, I admit. But you can't do this. Not to the Woodkeeps, not to the Gryffindors—"

"Gryffindors?" It was his turn to take her. "What does the sniveling family of your lord's have to do with anything?"

She sighed deeply into her hands, then met his eyes. "This Malak you claim she is to marry. . . he's kin to the Gryffindors. Do you have any idea what words they'd have for me if you interrupted whatever plans they have made?"

"And when do you care what the Gryffindors think?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but somehow, as Godric watched, every bit of her resolve failed. "Caspian. . . ."

He was silent for a long time. "I must be off now. Goodbye, sister." With a small pop he Apparated, leaving Rose gazing at where he had been.

Then she sighed again and ran her fingers though her hair. "Ricky, I know you were listening," she called. "Come here."

Godric obeyed, though he wondered what Caspian's problem had to do with him.

She forced a smile, seeming to hear his thoughts. "Caspian is being a fool, as usual. Tell me, how were your lessons?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sticky bread was delicious, Rowena thought happily as she licked the sugary glaze from her lips. The house-elves at Lord Clearwater's were very good cooks. They even told her she could have treats whenever she wanted. Which was more than what her mama would let her have. She tried to think of an exact number. Well, it would be far more. Still, her mama was a better cook than Lord Clearwater's house-elves. But then they were better than her mama and papa's house-elves when it came to baking. At least she could have treats when she was at lessons. She liked lessons. They were fun. Though she could still Apparate long before Jonas had asked her. She still liked him. He was funny. She also liked Apparating. So did Heather, except Heather was a Muggle and couldn't do it. But Rowena had discovered away to take people with her when she Apparated, and Heather could pick her up in her arms and travel with her. Every lesson day, Rowena got to take Heather home. Which was a little different, since Heather was a grown-up. And a Muggle. Muggles always needed people to take care of them.

They had Apparated back to Heather's home. Rowena's parents were traveling, and she would rather stay with Heather and her aunt and uncle than have a bunch of house-elves following her around. They never wanted to play fun games, just work. Heather said she would play, though. Just as soon as she finished talking to someone.

"The monster?" Rowena had asked.

Heather had laughed at that. "Yes, the monster. The scary man that keeps coming here and refuses to leave."

Malak was the monster's name. Rowena had read somewhere that Malak meant "angel" in a another-land language, but Malak wasn't an angel—he was the monster. He liked Heather, though. But Heather was smart and didn't like him back. In a way, it was sad, since her aunt and uncle said that Heather had to marry Malak.

Malak and Heather were in the library, talking. They probably didn't want Rowena to hear, but she could hear them just fine—she was sitting outside the door. It was a trick Salazar had taught her. She liked Salazar. He had given her a pet rabbit, all nice and brown and soft. She had named the rabbit Salazar. Salazar the rabbit was at home. She considered Apparating there and getting him. It would be more fun than listening to Heather and the monster man. But. . . Salazar the human had told her she had to keep listening and be patient if she wanted to hear anything interesting, sometimes.

But they were just talking about marriage.

She sighed and took another bite of sticky bread.

Then Heather mentioned sticky bread. She mentioned how it had fallen to the floor.

Malak didn't sound happy about that. "I'd hardly think that an accident, Heather."

"I wasn't feeling very well." Heather had looked sick.

"Then why didn't you just poison another slice? Or something else?"

Poison? Poison was bad. Rowena swallowed her bite and put her ear to the door.

"Malak, I—"

"I ask for one favor, that you might help me."

"I can't just. . . Malak, this is Lord Clearwater. He's powerful even among our people. I can't just kill him."

Kill Lord Clearwater?

Malak didn't say anything for a long time. "I thought you stood by me on this, Heather. You will make a poor bride."

"Then demand your family cancel this damn betrothal!"

"And lose you? I think you forget I love you. No, you'll serve your purposes as wife quite nicely. You just aren't a very good accomplice. But in bed, I suppose you'll be fine enough."

"That's hardly proper talk—"

Rowena fell back at the sound of a slap. She heard Heather give a small cry.

"You bastard. . ."

"You'll live. Just remember that I have people to answer to."

The monster man had hurt Heather! Rowena suddenly hated him more than she had.

He was walking, coming toward the door.

Stifling a cry, Rowena made herself invisible.

The door opened, and Malak slept out. He was tall, too tall, and very strong-looking. Rowena was almost afraid. He stood in the doorway, staring out into the hall, before slamming it behind him and marching off.

As quietly as she could, Rowena climbed to her feet and crept after him. She wondered if he could hear her, still. But even if he could, Muggles would never imagine an invisible person. She liked being invisible.

He left the house and entered the garden, still unaware that a little girl was behind him. She wanted to laugh. He thought he was all alone. Except for. . .

Someone else was in the garden. Someone she had never seen before. Well. . . she couldn't be completely sure. The person was wearing black robes, and a hood that covered all of his face, like a blanket dropped over his head with only a tiny hole torn in the middle. Maybe he'd scare off the monster man.

But Malak didn't seem afraid. He strode right up to the person, then bowed deeply.

"Is Terminus Clearwater dead?" the person asked. It was a man.

"No, but through no fault of my own."

"But the task was given to you. You promised me you knew a way into the lake manor."

"Please." Malak's voice remained surprisingly calm—Rowena wanted him to be a coward, to shake. "My betrothed, the Lady Woodkeep, swore to help me. She has a cousin, a young child who is a student of Clearwater's. She often takes the child there. Some time ago, she promised me she'd find a way to poison Clearwater."

"And how hard is it for a demure girl to poison a man?" The black-robed man sounded angry—she felt a little afraid, even though he couldn't see her. "I promised you blessings, mortal. Wealth and life and whatever else you might desire."

"I do not demand these things, my lord—"

The black-robed man gave a sickening laugh. "You hardly dare deny me? I, who can see straight into your hell-bound soul with a sight beyond what even the Christians with their new ways imagine? You want these things, and there is grace in that. There is no grace in your shame. Terminus Clearwater is a danger to even his own people. I've told you what evil he plots against the old folk—and even the Christians."

"I'm sorry." The first quiver of the fear she so demanded wound into Malak's voice. "She. . . the Lady Woodkeep is a fool, utterly harmless. I can find another way—"

"We consider putting another into this position."

"You have the power to destroy him. . . ."

"We do. But what good is it to us, when you and your fellow mortals are those who need to. . . " He stopped. Rowena watched as the gaze she could only imagine scanned the garden. She held her breath. "When only mortals needs fear. You, Malak. . ."

"You honor me with my name."

"Malak," the black-robed man repeated with some amusement. "You could be a great asset to your people. You could help in so many ways. If only you pass this first task."

Malak bowed again. "Yes, my lord."

"Words mean little. Do as I have said." The black-robed man stepped around Malak.

He was coming right towards her! But he couldn't see her, she was invisible. His words flooded through her mind, bringing doubt and a horrible pounding of her heart. Perhaps he could see her. . .

She threw herself to the ground, hoping her spell would hold. She should have stayed with Heather.

She screamed as burning hands wrenched her to her feet, screamed harder than she had ever had for anything. Perhaps Heather would hear. Or her aunt or uncle. Or maybe even her mama and papa.

"Shut up, you little bitch," the black-robed man's voice laughed as he pulled something dark and scratchy over her eyes.

A wand touched her shoulder—she felt him twist her own from her grip—and her body went limp. Like Salazar the rabbit, when he was asleep. She hated the feeling. She couldn't move anything. Just like a sleeping rabbit. And then he picked her up, and she felt the familiar tug of Apparating.

She didn't understand why Heather thought it was so fun.


	7. The Fighters

What remained of the moonlight's attempt to break through the sheltering web of branches danced eerily over the broken columns of stone as the two boys clambered toward the center. Salazar paused once to stare up at the sky, searching for the tiniest break of open sky. Still much too dark.

"Lumos," he muttered, urging his already lit wand to glow all the brighter.

Godric had climbed on a certain boulder, and his fingers searched familiarly over the cracked stone, knowing each bump and blemish. "Latin," he said simply, making the first word spoken above a whisper for the first time in over an hour. "I think that's such a strange language."

"Damn it." Salazar's wand tumbled into the dust, the lit end rolling around like a drunken firefly, as he doubled over in a laugh. "Ricky, this is supposed to be serious!"

Godric just grinned. "So. . . I guess the ashes might be buried under the stones. I mean, you can feel their warmth when you come in."

He had guessed that to be the ashes. Salazar thought for a moment, but didn't know what to think. With a shrug he bent down to retrieve his wand, a long dark shadow against the black ground. "So help me look."

Weeds crackled as Godric hopped down from his boulder, and for a few minutes all was silent save for the common symphony of the night forest.

"Salazar," Godric finally said.

The other boy, consumed with the powdery feel of the soil, barely turned. "Hm?"

"I have a confession to make." He groaned with the effort of pushing a rock forward. "I've been here before. A lot. With my aunt."

Salazar's hand slid into a quite large pile of the greasy ashes situated just under a slanted boulder. He felt them slide through his fingers, warm and night-cool at the same time. "You have?"

"Yeah." The response was almost too loud in the empty trees. "I thought. . . well, everyone around here knows about it. At least the magic children. I've been coming here forever."

Just what he had been waiting for. Salazar's lips spurned upwards into a tiny smile. So Godric had admitted it. "I know."

Somewhere, a small stone tumbled from Godric's hand to the ground and rolled into tone of the larger boulders. "You did?" His voice was almost childish.

"I did." Salazar rose up, dumping a large handful of ashes into the leather pouch he had brought; the spell didn't require so much. "I saw you. And that red-haired girl; I guess she's your aunt."

"Marigold."

"Marigold." For some reason, he felt he should remember the name. "I should probably expect a hex in the future for saying this, but. . . I thought you were Muggle brats."

"Muggle?" The surprise shifted into hysterical laughter. "Well. That's something I've never been called before. You didn't plan on killing me, did you?"

Salazar joined in laughing. "Thought about. Maybe I will someday."

Then, almost inaudibly, distant trees moved their branches. Both boys went silent. For a moment the noise stopped, slipping only to what was normal. But then. . . .

The boys exchanged terrified glances.

"Hide," Salazar commanded, ducking into a brush-covered cavern under an oblong stone that had fallen against another. Godric scurried in next to him, slamming against Salazar's toe. He stifled a gasp, but was sure to give his friend a quick kick in the shin. The ends of the wands' still glowed; they hissed them out, and slowly the faint moonlight revealed the necessary.

After a minute, a cloaked figure emerged into the clearing. He paused once, listening. The boys held their breaths. Then the figure continued forward until he reached the center boulder of the ruins.

"Adults can't come here," Godric murmured.

Salazar nodded vigorously.

The cloaked man again paused, waiting, then pulled out a wand and tapped the boulder three times. With each click of wood against stone the boulder glowed eerily green, like phosphorous, before its light washed again into the darkness.

This is stupid, Salazar found himself thinking. This is stupid and mad.

Then, one by one, more cloaked figures Apparated into the clearing, forming a perfect circle around the original man. They stood where they were, silent black statues. Except for one, who, with a single quick effort, flung a limp bag onto the ground.

"I've found something," he said with something of a laugh. "A tiny spy."

"You brought something so trivial to a meeting of the Order?" another voice asked, female. "A child? You might have killed it."

"I might still," the first man agreed. "But I thought it best to first submit the fate of such a child as this to the will of the Order."

A silent interest rose.

Something glinted in the faint moonlight. A dagger, Salazar surmised. The man reached forward and slit open the bag. "Do you recognize her?"

There was no reply.

The man seemed to wait longer, tasting the attention he had. "I had decided to work with a certain Muggle man who was betrothed to the kinswoman of one of Clearwater's students. He disappoints me, but at our talk I picked up something helpful. This child is a student. Her name is Rowena Ravenclaw."

Rowe! Salazar felt his lungs turn to ice. Next to him Godric slid heavily into the boulder.

Intense surprise circled like a wildfire among the group.

"Are you sure?" the original man asked.

"She attempted an invisibility charm. And may I compliment her that she was quite good at it. Far better than could be expected for a witch her age. Now. . . does the Order wish her dead?"

"I suggest we keep her," someone called out. "I'm sure she knows plenty that can be of use to us. She might bring down the foolish idealism of Evans and Clearwater, that same sham she was a part of. We could always kill her later."

"We have to get her." Godric shot forward, but Salazar held him back.

"You fool," he hissed. "They'll get us, too."

"We can't just let them have Rowena."

Salazar almost smiled. Such rampant bravery. Couldn't Godric appreciate it would be best to wait. But Rowe. . . his gaze wandered through darkness until he found her still silhouette. No. . . not now.

"And if she is so talented," said another. "Why couldn't she join us?"

"Excellent ideas," the woman mused. "A child Fighter. The rest of the Order would hardly approve of that. And yet. . . it's perfect. And what of this Muggle of yours, Dalibor?"

"Malak." The name was mockery. "He may be useful longer. I believe that it is his bretrothed who is the trouble. Though why he insists upon using her is beyond me. But he is a good, simple fool." Dalibor laughed deeply. "I have him convinced that I am-that all of us-are angels."

Apparently it was a good joke all around, and all laughed.

"We have to get her now," Godric insisted.

"Not yet."

Godric scowled and broke past Salazar's arm. In seconds the Fighters would see.

"Immobulus," Salazar whispered, flinging out his wand.

Godric froze, a still figure still crouched unseen in the weeds.

It's for the best, Salazar thought. To go now would be beyond foolish. All those adults. And... they were the Fighters. Never had he imagined he would really see them. The near-renegade section of the Order of the Phoenix.

But Rowe. .. he knew he could rescue her. If he just waited a little longer.

He watched as the conversation turned into other matters, things he couldn't follow concerning Muggles and snatches of mention of Lord Clearwater and Jonas Evans. And then. . . then they turned to stare at something beyond the branch canopy. This was it. He looked to Godric, and released him from the spell.

"Now," he whispered.

Godric stuck out his tongue, but crept forward behind Salazar.

Their backs were turned.. . . Rowe still lay motionless. So easy to rescue her.

Then one of the wizards turned. The boys shrank back into the weeds. The wizard seemed to have heard nothing, but his hood slipped back.

It was all Salazar could do not to scream.

Another wizard picked up Rowe's limp body and Apparated. The rest followed.

And the clearing was again empty save for the two boys.

"Rowena!" Godric screamed. He whirled on Salazar. "Why did you stop me!"

Rowe. . . Salazar shook his head, stunned. "I. . . we couldn't have rescued her. They would have caught us."

"We could have done something."

"No." But Godric was right: they could have.

Godric snarled and hopped onto a boulder. "We have to tell someone. My uncle Jonas. Lord Terminus. Your father. . .he's a wizard."

"Ricky. . ."

Godric hopped down, his glowering face right against Salazar's. "Another complaint?"

"My father was just here."


	8. Explanations

It wasn't fair. Godric sat huddled on the carpet, knees pushed into his chest as if he were no older than Rowena herself. It just wasn't fair. In one swift moment Rowena was gone. And for what? She was just a little girl, sometimes a pest, but they all loved her.

He lifted his head, throwing himself into the dark aura of the usually happy classroom. Lord Clearwater had summoned them there, demanded their attendance. But he himself hadn't shown yet. That was unfair. Helga sat near him, still sniffling back tears and her blonde hair a mess. And then Salazar. . Godric felt a fresh surge of anger. It was Salazar's fault. If they had just went ahead and grabbed her, they wouldn't be in this mess now.

Look at me. He imagined the thought flying across the room and boring into Salazar's brain. Look at me. You coward, you yellow coward, look at me!

But Godric didn't know anything about sending thoughts. And he had to admit to himself that Salazar had been right. At least partially right, whatever good guiltless morals that was good for. Had they ran out, no doubt they would have been captured as well. Three captives for the Fighters instead of one. What a victory that would have been.

And Salazar didn't look up. He sat at the foot of Lord Clearwater's chair, like a servant or a dog. A dog…..

"Salazar."

For a moment Godric thought he himself had spoken, in a high, clear voice that certainly wasn't his. But Helga had stood up, and was now walking across the room to place a comforting hand on Salazar's shoulder. He flinched, jerking it away.

She'd move, of course. Helga was no fool.

But she didn't. She didn't touch Salazar again, but she sat next to him, and Salazar did nothing else.

She glanced at Godric, her blue eyes near glowing. He feels bad enough, her eyes said.

Godric swallowed back a lump. She was right. Damn it all to hell, she was right.

The door opened, and in stepped Jonas. He gravely walked across the room to his usual corner of the room.

"Where's Lord Clearwater?" Godric asked. Jonas hadn't done the summoning.

"Terminus. . . has other matters," Jonas replied, not meeting his nephew's eyes. "I've. . .I've something to tell all of you."

For the first time Salazar looked up.

"I'm afraid that I must admit that Terminus and I haven't been as honest with you as we should have been. The classes. . ."

"I knew it," Helga murmured.

"Clever young woman," Jonas said with a sad smile. "Though I trust you have not told your suspicions to your father—"

Helga jerked at the word.

"Yes, it is the classes. But it's more than that." He settled back in the chair, sighing. "I'm afraid. . . but you must know. We're putting you through something, something that perhaps we're not meant to do. I don't know where to start."

"The beginning," Godric said. Not true inspiration. Just a random fact he had learned from his Gryffindor kin; the Evans knew of no beginnings.

"As well as any. It was to do with. . . us. The magic world. Muggles have never liked us, you know. Never. Oh, there are exceptions, but in general we've never been particularly cared for. And now. . .it's just getting worse. You've heard of all the persecutions against us."

Frederick and his father, Godric thought listlessly.

"The Order of the Phoenix stands for protecting us and our world. But the Fighters, they call them, have different ideas. They stand against Muggles. To them, the only way to save us is to destroy the Muggles. They've a reason for this. The seers among the Fighters say that if it is not done now, it will happen in the future, and be much worse. Something is coming, they say."

"Don't you have seers?" Salazar asked.

"We do," Jonas replied with a nod. "But we take a different course. Which is why the Fighters hate Lord Clearwater and me."

Hate? "They have you specifically?" Godric asked. That couldn't be; the Fighters hated a lot of people.

"They hate us specifically. And I'll explain why. It is not just that we handle things differently than they do. We won't fight the Muggles—I'm sure all of us here just adore Heather Woodkeep. Instead, we're training you for another purpose. The three of you—and Rowena—have the most potential around. Terminus and I will not live forever, and we need you to keep the rest of the wizarding world united."

"What?" Salazar jumped to his feet, eyes blazing. "You can't give us that kind of responsibility!"

"We can't," Jonas admitted. "But we can ask you to take it. I'm not asking you now. If you wish. . . you can just take the training we give you and go on with your life in whatever way you choose."

"I don't understand what the Fighters would have against that," Helga said.

"Because of what will happen in the future."

"What will happen in the future?"

"We can't be sure," Jonas said. "No one can be sure. But something dark will come, and it will come because of what you four will do. The Fighters know this, and that's why they've taken Rowena. To stop it."

"But if something bad will happen, then why should we bring it about?" Salazar asked. It was almost a challenge.

Godric expected a scathing answer, but Jonas gave none. "Because. There is too much good that will also come from it."

"But Rowe."

"We can save her. Don't worry about that. We'll find a way."

Salazar was silent for a long time. Then he sighed, all hostility melting away . "My father is one of them. I can use him to rescue Rowe."

"Your father?" Jonas echoed. Silent words played off his lips. "Siyth Slytherin?"

Salazar nodded.

"Salazar, you mustn't try anything. You might—"

"I'll get her back."

Jonas seemed ready to speak again, but only silence and Helga's sniffling filled the room. And then the door opened, and a woman entered.

"Mother," Godric said instinctively, rising to his feet.

"Godric," she said softly. She looked terrible, her red hair in messy tangles about her tear-stained face. "Jonas, it's Caspian. He's gone after Heather. And she's so distressed about her cousin. He's…" She stopped.

Godric followed her eyes across the room. She was staring at Salazar.

"No," Jonas said, rising.

"My baby," Rose murmured, brushing the air before her with a single finger. "My little baby." Then her mouth twisted back in pain as she doubled over, screaming.

"Mother!" Godric shouted, jumping up and rushing to her side. He grabbed her arm and felt the muscles twitch and spasm. Helgas was suddenly at his side.

"She needs to be on the ground, Ricky." Her face was intensely calm.

"Helga's right." Jonas conjured a mat between Rose, and the children lowered her to it. Rose continued screaming, her voice slowly growing hoarse.

Godric whirled on Jonas. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's. . ." Jonas bit his lip, drawing blood. "Ricky, she's a seer."

"A seer?" Salazar echoed. He sat, still frozen except for his mouth. He couldn't take his eyes off Rose. "Is she one of ours? A good seer?"

"Seers can't be bad or good," Godric said.

"They actually can, Ricky," said Jonas. "Many tend to be biased in their interpretations. And Rose…."

He didn't finish. The screaming ended with cutting silence that was too sharp in its short life before Rose spoke again.

_The child meets a crooked path_

_Doom shall greet thy seed_

_With final sin when centuries pass_

_'Tis punishment for thy deed._

The words rung throughout the room before dropping into oblivion.


	9. SnakeTalker

How could it have happened? Heather paced the garden, her bare feet occasionally crunching against some helpless flower----not that she cared. Flowers were small life, easily replanted and replaced. She had never particularly liked violets, anyway. But Rowena. . . . Heather''s fists clenched at her sides. Rowena. If anything happened to that child, anything at all. . . she wasn't sure what she would do. But she would do something. She gazed up at the sky, demanding it to hear her silent vow. A crow flew above, screeching down. She sniffed. Good enough, it would have to do.

With a deep breath she dropped to the ground, skirt crumpling beneath her. It had been two days now since the kidnaping. Two days that had stretched on forever into agony until Heather could scarcely think of anything else. Terminus Clearwater had promised she would be returned to her panic-stricken family. In fact, Rowena''s father was heading the search. How lucky he was to have magic. Heather stared at her own hands, dusty from the garden. They could do nothing. Nothing but wring themselves and hope that Caspian didn't get himself killed in the process.

Caspian. How brave he was to search her out. He didn't know Rowena so well, yet he wanted to rescue the child. The faintest of smiles sprung onto Heather''s face, almost painful after so much crying. He was so wonderful. Far too wonderful for her. What did they call her kind? Muggles? A wizard like him, an Evans.

"Why is that I always find you in the garden, darling?"

And ye there were still others? She didn't bother to look up. "Hello, Malak. I wasn't aware you had come to visit."

""With your cousin in such trouble?"" His voice smoked with something that wasn't pity. "What else could I do?"

He dropped to the ground beside her. She flinched, remember what he had done. "I ask you to leave my presence. It's not proper for a betrothed pair."

"Betrothed?" Malak laughed. "How nice of you to remember such! I had thought you had felt otherwise."

"Why would I feel against my parents' wishes?"

"Because."

The air froze in anticipation, and she finally dared herself to glance at his sneering face. "Malak?"

With another laugh he pulled something from his pocket. Scraps of parchment, ripped and bent. "I entered your chambers!"

She gasped. No. "You have no such right!"

He raised hand, trembling in the air. "I have such rights over my future wife, if that's what she still wishes!"

A weapon, she thought suddenly. She needed a weapon. Again.

With a sigh Malak lowered his hand. "I read some interesting things, Heather. I've realized you don't especially love me despite my rabid affections for you, but at least I always knew you at least liked me. Liked me enough to continue on with our betrothal in the way proper for a lady. But to marry another, to elope. . ."

She stared at him, expecting him to again bring up his hand. "Malak."

"Hear me this," he said, smirking and climbing to his feet. "If you marry this demon, this wizard Caspian of yours. . . your cousin will die."

With a scream Heather jumped to her feet, fingernails spread before him. How easy it would be to just tear out his eyes...

"Don''t touch me." He grabbed her wrist, wrestling her down.

She screamed again, struggling under him. But he was too strong. "How did you. . .?"

"I asked something of you before. And I ask something of you. I love you, and I ask that you will marry me. I ask that you let that child live."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"How was your day, Salazar?"

Salazar looked down from his nook in the branches at his father. The man stood far below the tree, up to his knees in the marshy water, smiling innocently at his son. Salazar frowned, counting on the flurry of leaves to hide that. Three days. Three days since that awful night and yet the man suspected nothing. Salazar had barely spoken a word, had barely glanced at him, and yet his father continued forth in some sick semblance of life. He swallowed back the frown. "The same."

Siyth nodded, grin not failing. "I noticed you slacked off on some of your chores."

A reminder. Without even threat of punishment. How pathetic. Salazar shrugged, letting a foot dangle from his branch. "They can wait." They had waited three days.

The reply was a nonchalant grumble, neither approval or disproval. Yet Siyth continued to stand there like some peasant's scarecrow.

The fool, Salazar thought suddenly. The damn stupid bastard. Immediately tears dotted his eyes. It wasn't fair. It was his father. His own father whose fault it all was. Standing there in the stone place all but merged into the night, a black hood so tightly prepared to slip. . . Salazar bit his lip until the blood flowed. Anything to keep back a sob. That wasn't how it worked.

Lady Gryffindor had something to that effect, after she had awoken from. . .whatever had happened to her. Lady Gryffindor. With a soft sigh she broke through the night memory and replaced Siyth and the stone place. She stood in Lord Clearwater's room, pale and frightened and staring straight into Salazar's eyes as if he were a ghost. She had something, whispered something before she had screamed those other words. "My baby."

"My baby?" Salazar repeated the words under his breath, rolling them over his tongue in some effort to gain sense from them. What was that supposed to mean? A subtle laugh welled up in his mind as he thought of possible tauntings at Godric. His mother was a lunatic. Of course he'd never have the courage, let alone the blatant audacity, to say such a thing. Lady Gryffindor was just a nice lady, just as worried about Rowena as the rest of them. After she had come to, and a house-elf had gently wiped away the sweat, it was as if nothing had happened.

No. That wasn't entirely true. Her eyes had still followed him. He had waited for more, for her to say something else, to him. But she had slowly forced the conversation away from her to practical matters that he had failed to hear. Well, if it were so important, Lord Clearwater would certainly tell him later.

"Something's wrong." Siyth's steady voice blasted through Salazar's thoughts.

Salazar shook his head, dazed, and gazed once more down through the leaves at his father. Another shot of fury rushed through him. "Nothing's wrong."

Siyth still showed no sign of having any idea what Salazar was talking about. Just the strong, calm face that was so familiar. No sign of guilt for what he had done to little Rowe. With a slow nod, he turned. "Don't tell me, then."

Salazar listened for the slurps of feet dragging through the marsh to fade. His own father. What was he supposed to do about that?

"You are still furious with him?" A yellow and black snake slowly dropped her head from the branch above. "You are still furious?"

He calmly glanced at the snake. "Ethelinda," he said by way of greeting.

Ethelinda flicked her tongue, her ruby eyes meeting his and dragging them back. "You have not answered my question, Snake-talker."

Only a girl snake would demand such a conversation. He decided to humor her. "Of course I'm mad. He. . ." He threw a finger in the direction of the cottage. "He was there that night, Ethelinda! He helped kidnap Rowe!"

"Rowe. . . I still have not met this Rowe. Tell me, did she like the rabbit pet I captured for her?"

Rowe and that silly rabbit. For a moment Salazar dared laugh. "She didn't eat the thing, if that's what you mean."

The snake gave her version of a shrug. "Human girl children. Snake children know that rabbits are meant to be eaten."

"Rowe wanted a pet." Misery set back again. Where was Rowena? All alone without even her pet rabbit to keep her company. Apparently she was somewhere she couldn't apparate. Or she would have been back by then. He knew it.

"Pets." Ethelinda shook her head, her tongue flickering out again like a small flame. "Snake-Talker, do you blame your father for this?"

"He was there. He was one of them. A Fighter. And. . . Terminus told us all about them. They're wrong. The bad side of the Order."

"But you were there, too. Why did you not rescue her?"

Something stabbed into his heart and his hands clenched into fists. "Don't say that!" he shouted at the snake, his voice raising with the words until the leaves shook around him. "Don't say that! It wasn't my fault!"

"But Snake-Talker's friend suggested you go……"

"We would have died," Salazar snapped. The words echoed in his head. Of course it was smart not to go after her then, not with so many Fighters standing around. "Ricky would have died and I would have died and they would have killed Rowe."

Ethelinda studied him for a time, her eyes glittering in the shadowy tree. "You are right, Snake-Talker. That would have been foolish."

He nodded, but wasn't satisfied. He knew then it was best to stay hidden, he knew it now…… but why did he feel so awful? It wasn't his fault Rowe was still capture. It wasn't his fault at all. More tears stung at his eyes, and he wiped them away in humiliation so the snake wouldn't see.

But she did. "Human tears," she mused. "I hear they are salty. Might I taste one, Snake-Talker?"

"Taste my tears?" he muttered blankly.

Her body coiled forward like shimmering gold until her head was but a brush from his cheek. With a gentle move her tongue swiped his. He barely felt it, like being touched by a spider's web.

"Salty," she repeated, drawing back. "Why do you cry them, Snake-Talker?"

Ethelinda couldn't understand. They had been friends for years but. . . a snake couldn't understand human things. With a snarl he shifted away, near dropping from the limb.

"Rowena," she said. "Rowena Ravenclaw. Eagle child."

"Eagle child?" he repeated. "What?"

Ethelinda's carved lips twisted upwards into a serpentine grin. "I know of her. All of us know of her."

Bark snapped off beneath Salazar''s hand. "You do?"

"Why do you wish to find her, Snake-Talker?"

He stared back at her. She was mocking him, he could tell. But did it matter? "Because I must find her."

The above branches rustled violently as Ethelinda slid completely to Salazar''s branch. "Then I will tell you."


	10. Rescue

'It didn't seem real. Whatever spell that had been cast on the room was powerful, yet Godric found himself questioning every thread of it. What they were about to do. . . it couldn't be possible. After all, how could Salazar know?

'"I still doubt you should take these boys," Jonas repeated. He stood near the window overlooking the lake, his back toward Caspian, Salazar, and Godric. "Caspian, they are little more than children."

'"Children who know more than anyone else," Caspian said softly. "If Salazar here is correct. . ." He closed his eyes, teeth clenched. "Malak is a monster. All of them are. I will not stand for this, not when we can get Rowena back."

'"If Rose knew you were taking her son. . ."

'Godric felt Caspian turn to him, approval in his eyes. He had volunteered to go with Caspian; if his mother found out, it would his own fault.

'"I believe Godric can take care of himself." Caspian pivoted to the door, slivery wand clenched tight in his hand. "Well, then. We are off."

'"Caspian." Jonas' voice was not loud, but his nephew stopped just the same. The old man turned away from the window, his mouth twisted among his wrinkles into a frown. "I will not say this isn't foolishness. You can only be glad Lord Clearwater does not know of this. Salazar here. . ." He managed a small smile at the boy whose hands were thrust into the pockets of his robe. "I do not doubt what Salazar says. And I know that you love Heather. I've never met her betrothed, but if the Fighters have roped him into their game, he is no good. But perhaps. . ." He sighed, body trembling. "Perhaps it would be best to leave things as they are."

'Foolishness! Godric's hands instinctively balled themselves into fists. He wouldn't contradict his uncle, he couldn't. Yet he couldn't stop the words from tumbling from his mouth. "But they might kill her! She's just a little girl." He glanced at Salazar, expecting some sort of backup, some angry cry.

'But Salazar just stared a long time at Jonas, face calm and serious. Then, without a word, he opened the door, stepped out, and shut it behind him.

'Caspian dared laugh.

'"We'll be careful," Godric muttered, springing to the door. "Lord Clearwater spoke of a prophecy. Rowena has to be a part of it."

'"Ricky," he heard Jonas call.

'But he was out in the corridor, in no mood to listen.

'Salazar was already there, sitting on the floor with this legs curled into his chest. "Jonas is the fool."

'"Jonas isn't a fool, he's—" There was no point in defending anyone. Godric shook his head and dropped to the floor next to his friend. "Yes, he is a fool. He's a Squib, though; he can't be blamed."

'"Even Squibs would know what we should do." Salazar picked lazily at a loose rock in the wall. "And the Fighers. . . how can we ever be expected to stop them if we can't even face them?"

'"We can't just let them. . . live."

'"I don't think it's about life." He gave up on the stone and reached again into his pocket. "I know where to go. We'll find Rowe."

'The door opened and a third time, and Caspian appeared, face hard and red. Evidently there had been a fight. But one look at the boys and he smiled, a wild grin of determination. "Come on," he said brightly. "Before nightfall. Salazar, you know the way."

'Salazar nodded and stood up.

'Terminus Clearwater's castle had never seemed so large to Godric, not even the first time he had come to it. The halls twisted in on themselves in impossible contrast against what he had always seen. Why was it taking so long to get outside? He found himself trailing along behind Caspian and Salazar, his feet almost fatigued from walking.

'"Ricky." A shock of blonde hair appeared in the hall's torchlight as a girl stepped into his path.

'Godric blinked. "Helga." How stupid a greeting; he made an awkward bow. "What are you doing…?"

'His voice trailed off as she entered the torchlight, shadows tearing into her face like they shouldn't. . . "Demons and hell, what happened?"

'Helga gingerly touched the bruise at her eye and winced. "It's. . . nothing. Don't worry. I heard. . . I heard that Salazar knows where Rowena is." She finished with a smile, demanding a reply, and for several long moments there was nothing but an awkward silence.

'Godric, unable to take his eyes off her face, nodded. "Yes. . . we're. . .we're leaving now."

'She gave a small laugh. "You aren't."

'"I will be, once I catch up."

"Of course." She nodded. "I know you'll bring her back."

Finally, confidence. "We're going to try."

"You will. But. . . . oh, Ricky! Please be careful!" She jumped forward, quickly brushing her lips against his. "Sorry."

How bad he must be blushing. Suddenly he had an urge to grab her and kiss her back. "Don't be. And I will be careful."

She laughed again, louder. "You had better. Now hurry."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yes, nothing seemed real.

How odd it was that it would be in that very spot. Salazar almost expected it a mistake, had it none been for Ethelinda's gently gnawing of his finger. He pushed his way through the trees, constant amazement at the idiocy of it all running through his mind. The old boulders of the altars almost melted into the shadows around them, as if trying to hide themselves. How lucky they couldn't.

"I don't believe it," Caspian Evans muttered behind him. The brush of the forest was not as kind to him, and more than a few spells had been necessary to make his way through. Some wizards would have probably given up against the forest's magic. But Caspian was stubborn; Salazar admired him for that. "You said. . . you said this is where they brought her afterwards, after she was taken from the Woodkeep land."

Rowena lying helpless on the ground like some sort of doll. . . Salazar's fingers went cold. And he had done nothing. He couldn't have done anything. But he would do something now. And if it took the rest of his life, he would make up that list time to her.

Godric entered last and surveyed the ruins with a laugh. "Here, of all places. They really are cowards, aren't they?"

"Cowards through and through," Salazar agreed.

"Cowards?" Ethelinda chuckled. "I wouldn't call them cowardly as much as wise. To hide here in the forest. . . why, that magic alone provides more than a decent fortress."

Salazar nodded grimly and walked among the rocks. Ethelinda had explained it earlier, though the instructions had required something of a translation – a serpent saw the world differently than a human, and vise versa. The end result had left him with some confusion. "Which one is it?"

"The swamp mist one." She wriggled in delight. "It feels very cool to slide under."

He sighed. "And which one is that?"

"You humans know nothing, Snake-Talker. Just. . . bring me near them. I'll find it."

Caspian and Godric cast oblivion, still taking in the ruins as it if were all something new. Caspian had a sword drawn, hilt aglow with what little sunlight came through. Resorting to a Muggle weapon. Silly.

"It's this one," Ethelinda announced.

Salazar stood next to one of the larger boulders of the ruins, though it was still broken. A gooey moss blanketed most of it.

"Just touch it." She poked her tiny head from his pocket, letting her tongue flick against the moss. "Yes, this is it. Oh, just like a proper swamp, it is!"

Somewhat dubious, Salazar pulled out his wand and forced the tip into the moss.

"Good. Now pull it down, and then make a sharp angle to the left."

He did so, and the rock began to shake.

Earthquake! He leaped back, only to realize that it was indeed just the boulder. Mouth dry, he turned to Caspian and Godric. They were already rushing over, Caspian's sword slicing dangerously into the air.

"What in all of hell?" Caspian drew out his wand, the tip aglow. "Salazar, what have you done? How did you know how to do this?"

"Silence, Snake-Talker." Ethelinda slid back into his pocket.

"I just. . . knew." A downright lie and humiliating. Well, he was used to that.

The rock continued to shake, the moss and stone whirling faster and faster in the single shape. And then, the boulder was gone. It had faded into the air, or vanished into whatever the forest held. In its place was a wide hole in the earth.

The three looked at each other. Then Caspian cleared his throat and knelt down to dip his hand into the hole. "Interesting. Salazar, I am most impressed." Sticking his sword back into its sheathe, he leapt into the hole.

It was not long before he dropped. Salazar could still see him, red hair visible against the darkness.

"It's not bad!" Caspian called back up. "Only about eight feet."

"What's down there?" Godric asked, jumping in as well. "Nevermind. I'm here. Come on, Sal."

Salazar stared down into the hole. Was she down there? Well, Caspian and Godric had survived.

Ethelinda seemed to find it amusing. "And you called others cowards? Jump, Snake-Talker."

Rowe, he thought dimly. He leaped down.

Beneath was a cave, a tunnel cramped and earthy. Salazar gasped for breath against the clouds of dirt that billowed into his mouth and nose. The only light were two orbs ahead stemming from lit wands.

"Lumos," he whispered, pulling his own out. Then he hurried forward. The path under his feet was firm, well-packed. Clearly it had been traveled on many a time. That was good, he supposed. Or it could be bad. As for the tunnel walls, he found them disappointing. He wasn't quite sure what he would have expected, but when one enters the domain of such a sect of the Order, well. . . there just might be more to everything.

"Bones," Ethelinda murmured.

"Bones?" Something crunched under his feet. He lifted back his foot and nearly screamed. Yes, bones. A carpet of loose bones extending for the next ten feet of the tunnel floor.

What did the Fighters think they were doing? And his father. . . Salazar bit his lip until the blood flowed. His own father was a part of this monstrosity. Deep hatred welled up inside of him.

"Salazar!" Godric called suddenly, his voice echoing. There was something. . . wrong. "Come here!"

Salazar glanced one more time at the bones, then squeezes his eyes shut and ran across them. His feet slipped over them, threatening to fall into that horrible mess. . . he finally reached the firm safety of the other side. He let his eyes fall open. Godric and Caspian were only feet ahead, staring at something on the ground.

No. "Rowe!" he heard himself scream, and he resumed running. They were too late. Damn it all, they were too late. What had happened? What had they done to her? Bile burned at his lips.

"Perhaps he shouldn't look—" Caspian started, raising a hand to block Salazar.

But he had to see. He pushed past Caspian.

It wasn't Rowena.

A man lay crumpled in a lake of blood, a scab of red only recently crusted over his slashed neck. Open eyes stared blankly before him.

Ethelinda gave a hiss of surprise.

Salazar felt his legs go limp as his stomach churned. It was his father. Lying there, dead. . . it wasn't right. Whatever he had thought earlier, this wasn't right. In a thousand nightmares, this wasn't what he had wanted for his father's punishment.

He hadn't wished it, had he?

He was going to be sick.

"Catch him!" a distant voice shouted. Strong arms grabbed his own and lowered him to the floor. Near the body.

"No!" He gasped for breath, his throat already aching with vomit and his scream, and struggled to his feet. "We can't. . ." Couldn't what? "Rowe. We still have to find her."

"But—" Godric started, but Caspian nodded.

"Yes." He gingerly pushed Salazar forward, safely past his body. The cold eyes were still on him. "Salazar is right, Ricky. We can't turn back."

"But your father," Ethelinda pressed. "Snake-Talker, this is your kin!"

And the one who had lied to him. The initial horror still held Salazar's body in throbbing shock. But if he could just keep that one thought in mind. . . Like sleepwalking he followed let Caspian lead him down the tunnel, leaving the corpse behind. It didn't matter; he could still see his father—the image may have been burned into his eyelids. His father. A sob choked at him. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry. . . the tears were coming. His hand found its way to his pocket, and he stroked Ethelinda's warm, scaly body. At least she was alive.

"I am sorry, Snake-Talker," she said. "I am most sorry. Perhaps you should turn around."

But the body lay back there. And he still had to find Rowena. That came first. He could think of the other later. Rowena couldn't be much farther.

She wasn't. They found her curled up in a nest of ragged blankets, eyes shut. Sleeping. Yes, she was but sleeping, Salazar thought. Her fingers clutched loosely at the edge of a blanket and her black curls hung around her pale face.

Too pale.

Godric was the first to her. He grabbed her wrist, then slammed his other hand to her forehead. "She's alive," he announced. But there was fear in his voice.

Alive. The words seemed to echo. "What's wrong?"

"Fever. She's burning up with it."

Salazar's hand whipped across the air toward her. They were killing her. They were letting her die.

"We got to get her out of here," Caspian said. "Your father—I mean, Siyth–must

have been the guard. I wonder who killed him. Marigold knows the healing arts." He scooped her up into his arms.

Instantly the tunnel changed. Salazar gasped, dropping to the floor as the walls spun. His hands did not touch the earth as he expected. Instead they touched. . . carpet. He brushed it again in disbelief. Yes, carpet. Expensive . . red. The color of blood. In a panic he jumped to his feet.

They were in a room, bed chambers, to be exact. The fanciest he had ever seen. Godric sat on the floor, gazing around him. Caspian stood near, Rowena still clutched tightly to his chest, staring in horror at the massive bed against the wall.

A man slowly sat up in the bed, a torn shirt exposing bare chest. For a moment he stared at them, just as horrified as Caspian.

What sort of sick mistake was this?

But then the man frowned. "Of course," he said slowly, nodding. "Of course. I should have never slackened in their request. To guard a young child. . . how hard was it to be?" He trembled, the blood draining from his face. "But the child is here. Their promise was kept. The child's kidnappers would be brought to me for judgment." A painful smile twisted onto his lips. "How ironic it would be my rival."

"Caspian?" A female voice, barely audible, sounded from the bed. "Caspian!"

A look of understanding came into Caspian's eyes. "Heather!" With one swift motion he lay Rowena gently on the floor and rushed to the bed. "Heather!"

She began to cry.

Caspian stared at the bed, his body rigid. Then he whirled at the man. "Malak," he hissed. "What have you done to her? Damn it!"

Malak laughed. "The angels said she would be my wife. She was promised to me."

"What angels?" Caspian whipped his sword back out and held it before Malak.

Malak glanced at the sword, his laugh stopping short. "I think this is hardly what we need."

Godric climbed to his feet, his wand out.

"It did no good to that poor man back at the hiding place."

His father! Another stab of pain zoomed through Salazar. He wiped at his eyes. Malak. So it was that bastard's fault. He had killed, and then he just wanted to leave Rowena to die.

"Caspian," Heather's voice muttered. "I'm so glad you're here."

Malak turned back to her. "You whore!"

"Don't touch her!" Caspian screamed.

Rowena's eyes fluttered. "Mama?"

"Rowe," Salazar whispered. He ran to her side just as Caspian raised his sword. Godric had not lied. She was like flame to touch.

He didn't watch as the sword, whirring in the air, was brought down. Malak's following scream didn't seem real, anyway.

Rowena. He had never seen anyone so sick. And left all alone in that filthy tunnel with. . . his father. . . Murderers.

"You are angry, no?" Ethelinda asked softly. "You must be very angry about all of this."

Caspian swung again, this time knocking a whimpering Malak to the floor. Blood from his arm oozed over the carpet.

Malak must have killed his father. . .

"How could you not be angry, Snake-Talker?"

"I could kill you!" Caspian raged. "I could kill you right now!"

Heather's sobs were louder than ever.

"I'll bind him," Godric shouted. Ropes shot from the end of his wand, wrapping themselves tightly around Malak.

Caspian stood above him, chest heaving, sword still ready.

He's going to kill him, Salazar thought wildly. Malak was going to die.

"The angels said I'd be protected," Malak said through his tears. "They said I'd be protected. . ."

"Silence!" Caspian kicked him hard in the face, leaving the nose broken.

"He's helpless," Godric protested. "You can't do that when he's tied. . ."

Caspian ignored him. He bent over the bed, gathering up Heather. Her bare arms hung loosely around his neck, too weak to grasp anything. Her heavy dress was slashed. . . Salazar tried not to look; that wasn't proper.

Malak.. .

Rowena whimpered again, and Salazar held her tighter. She was so little. . .

"Let's go," Caspian said softly. He glanced down at Malak, who sniveled and shrank back.

"Don't," Godric begged.

Caspian sighed and continued past. "We'll apparate back. Come." His eyes fixed on Salazar. "Can you carry her?" He seemed to regret his words. "I'm sorry, I just can't. . ."

Salazar nodded. "She's not heavy."

For a moment Caspian seemed ready to smile. "My sister can take care of her. Of both of them." Then, with a small pop, he vanished.

Godric was still staring at Malak, who still cringed like a pitiful worm. "Salazar," he said after a pause. "Maybe I shouldn't have come."

Salazar couldn't reply.

Godric said nothing else for a long time. The room was silent save for Malak. "We should go now." He apparated.

Salazar was alone. Alone in that horrible room except for Malak. How he hated him. The thought came sudden, bitingly. Yes, he hated him. He heard himself say it aloud.

There seemed to be no color left in Malak's face.

Salazar set Rowena onto the carpet, then walked over to Malak. How tempting it would be to kick him. No wonder Caspian had done so. But that wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

Again everything whirled through his mind. His father's body, Rowena, Heather. . . Godric was right. Neither of them should have come. To see all of that. . .

"I have to do something," he said to Ethelinda. "I hate him."

"Pull out your wand," she instructed.

He obeyed, then pointed it at Malak's chest. "What will this do?"

"A little curse you can be sure he will not like."

"Serpents know magic?"

She laughed. "Sometimes we hear wizards say things, do things. We learn. Now, Snake-Talker, think how much you hate this human."

Embarrassingly simple.

"Repeat after me. No, translate to your own tongue."

He stared down at the squirming Malak. His tongue was ready.

Ethelinda hissed her approval. "Avada. Kedavra. In human speech."

He did.


	11. A Guardian

A blur. All the excitement possible of rampaging so in but a single week could apparently become nothing but a large foggy memory that Helga wished to forget. Sleep might help. That had always been one of Naira's more pressed cures. Sleep and a maybe a sip of herb water could fix most anything that wouldn't kill you. And many times such a remedy had worked. So why wouldn't it work now, if she could but crawl into her nice warm bed and never come out no matter how her father screamed at her.

He had said it was her fault that little Rowena had been captured.

Helga cringed once, the figures on the other side of the room blinking momentarily into darkness. Even otherwise they were blurred, messy shapes of humans talking in voices she probably wasn't supposed to overhear. Well, it was too late for that. She had already done enough. When a sobbing Salazar had appeared with Rowena in his arms, it had been Helga who had stepped past the stunned Jonas to get the feverish child to a proper bed and her worried parents' arms. It was she who had sat down with Salazar and tried to make sense of the incoherent cries that had poured from him.

Salazar. . . She brushed away some tears and tried to focus on him, leaning against the wall, not even meeting Lord Clearwater's eyes as the older man spoke to him. Her heart went out to him, just as it had the other day. Poor Salazar. His father dead and. . . something else. Perhaps he had mentioned it as he lay with his head in her lap, but those nightmarish words still made little clarity to her. Salazar. . .

His eyes, like cold pebbles, met hers. She stared back. She couldn't break the gaze. She didn't know why, but she couldn't possible do that. If she did. . . Salazar needed her to hold on for as long as he could.

A few moments turned out to be enough. With the faintest of smiles she hadn't seen from him in days he released her, gasping.

Something was wrong. She had known it the moment he had returned with Rowena. Something had happened back there.

"Helga." A cold hand found its way to her shoulder. "Helga, this is not our business; perhaps its best that we leave now."

She couldn't look up at her father, she didn't even want to. Fool, she thought. It wasn't his business, the fate of Salazar Slytherin, but it certainly was hers. Salazar was her friend and if that was more than her father could understand then so be it! And if he kept that damn hand on her shoulder one moment longer. . . She couldn't hid her intake of breath as his fingers slowly slid away from her dress. The pretty dress he had purchased for her. He did love to spoil her. And that was good of him. He did love her, and she him. He was her father, after all.

"We really should leave."

"You can leave, Father," she whispered, daring herself to glance up at him. "I. . . I can get home on my home. You are aware that I'm very good at apparation."

A smile twitched under his greying beard. "I know you are, my pet."

Yes, he did love her, like a good father.

"Young Slytherin is my fellow student and friend," she continued. "I wish to be here with him."

"My daughter has a good heart." The smile lessened.

"Thank-you, Father." He expected her to say more. He wanted a better reason. "He. . . helps me in lessons."

Her father sniffed, chest twisting beneath his expensive purple cloak. "I wouldn't think a daughter of mine would require lessons."

She forced a smile. "I'm the one who taught him to Apparate."

It was enough. He bent down enough to give her a small kiss on her forehead. How kind. She fought an instinct to brush it away. "Then I shall see you at supper?"

"Of course, Father. Don't let Naira serve anything without me."

He was a good man, she thought as she watched her father Apparate without so much as a farewell to Lord Clearwater or Lady Gryffindor. Yes, he was good.

She tried not to touch the bruise at her eye. Instead she turned her attention to the others. Lord Clearwater and Jonas, talking in low tones, while Lady Gryffindor stood silently near them, her son at her side. . .

No. Godric wasn't there. He. . .

"It's not right a maiden stand alone." He was suddenly before her, a lock of brown hair twisted awkwardly above his head.

"Ricky," she whispered, reaching up a hand to smooth down the hair. Then she jerked back, realizing what she had done. They hadn't even so much as yet mentioned the kiss.

"You are like my mother." He gave a small laugh, surprisingly appropriate for the dreary occasion. "Please, come stand by us." Without so much as a "by your leave" he slipped her hand into his. Perhaps she should fight back, but. . .oh, she couldn't.

He led her closer to the other group. Amazing how she had been unable to hear them. Or at least not pay attention. Lady Gryffindor. . . Helga had heard so little of her words, she discovered.

"I again ask that I be allowed to take. . . Salazar," Lady Gryffindor was saying. "I can take care of him, I know I can."

Something wasn't right. Helga stared at Lady Gryffindor, practically begging for Salazar while her red hair slipped from the knot behind her head. Such. . . determination. For the child of one of Lord Clearwater's servants?

"I trust you on that, Rose," Lord Clearwater solemnly agreed. "But Siyth was. . ."

"Siyth was one of them!" Lady Gryffindor shot back. In a moment she was blushing, hands clapped over her mouth. "I mean. . ."

"But Salazar is not Siyth," Lord Clearwater continued, hardly phased by Lady Gryffindor's outburst. "I regret my inability to see who he was, but I care for his child."

There was silence as his words were considered.

"As do I," she whispered.

Jonas was watching his niece-no one but Helga seemed to notice, she decided. He was planning on interceding. And finally he did.

"Terminus," Jonas murmured. "Please, let me speak with you aside."

Lady Gryffindor's eyes widened. "Uncle Jonas?" A plea. But she didn't move.

Salazar refused to look at anyone, even Helga and Godric.

"He should be my brother," Godric muttered, squeezing Helga's hand. "Clearwater's home is too. . . close."

"Something happened yesterday," Helga replied. "Did he. . ."

"He told me nothing."

A low sob escaped Lady Gryffindor's throat.

Helga suddenly hoped Lady Gryffindor wouldn't look at her. She hated the way the woman sometimes looked at her. Like she knew something.

"Mother." Godric, with his other hand, touched her shoulder.

She placed hers over his and shook her head. "We must think of something else, Ricky. My sister. . . did you hear she has picked a suitor?"

With almost a laugh Godric glanced back at Helga.

She had an urge to laugh, as well. What an odd time to be discussing marriage.

"Really?"

"Yes. A Martin Weasley. A rich and very talented wizard of a good family. My parents approve most highly."

Godric actually did laugh. "So I suppose Marigold won't be playing anywhere with me, now."

Lady Gryffindor dared smile. "I think she likes running through the woods more than she lets on."

Jonas and Lord Clearwater returned from their side talk, both looking very grave.

"Rose," Clearwater said, taking Lady Gryffindor's hand. "Your uncle has convinced me that you would be the best caretaker for Salazar."

Godric squeezed Helga's hand even tighter. "Yes!"

Even Salazar looked up, something of relief written on his face.

She gasped, looking sharply at Jonas, who merely shrugged. "How did-?" Her gaze returned to Lord Clearwater as she tried her best not to cry. "Thank-you. I cannot express my gratitude."

Lord Clearwater smiled. "You will be a fine mother for him."

"Thank-you so much. His lessons with you, of course, will continue. His father. . . should not have died in such a way. The man was a traitor, but a good father. His murderer must be found, if it were not this Malak."

Something inside of Helga screamed at those words.


	12. Eight Years Later

"You have in mind another suitor?"

Rowena gave the mirror another smile, sharp and charming as she could imagine. She didn't need to turn; she could see Helga's reflection just fine just beyond the mess of black curls she was trying to tame. "Really, Helga, it's just a dance. I go there to. . ." She searched her mind for a word. "Socialize. It's a lovely way to meet people. You should try it some time."

Helga laughed and shook her head, returning to her needlepoint. "Yes, Rowena. Socializing. I'm very sure of it."

Helga was too good a tease, Rowena thought, and this time she did turn around. "You don't believe me!"

"The only reason I don't believe you is that anytime there is anything to attend, it's an excuse for you to 'meet' someone that you are already quite familiar with it. So. . . who is it this time?"

She choked back a giggle. "I don't have to listen to this. Jonas is attending this. Terminus is attending this. For crying out loud, Marigold is breaking away from motherhood to come!"

"At least I'm not going as a common whore." Marigold stepped past the drawn purple curtain into the room, her red hair braided tight behind her neck and an infant son, also blessed with red hair, slung at her hip. "I don't think you have any idea how loud you are, Rowena."

Rowena let the laugh out this time. All the teasings, the tortures she received from Helga, Marigold, Lady Gryffindor... hell, everyone, she took in fun. She wasn't a whore, at least not in the proper sense. She hadn't done or lost anything, if that's what the mockingly suggested. It was just that, well, she was a rather attractive—if she did say so herself—sixteen-year old witch that hadn't been landed with a husband yet. And with all the eligible young wizards around. . . a girl couldn't lock herself away, could she? "You're just jealous. Both of you."

Marigold gave a short laugh. "Hah. Of what? I've got a wonderful husband and four children." She gave the baby a peck on the nose. "And you. . . "

"Am still delightfully worthy of courtship." Rowena returned to the mirror and yanked at a snarled curl. With all her accomplishments over the years one would think she could come up with a charm to untangle hair. And not sit around while Helga discovered one that as of yet still remained in blatant secrecy.

"I can help with that," Helga said sweetly, not even looking up from her needlepoint. Damn, but she could be perfect, all the angel sitting in the corner with all that beautiful blonde hair spilling around her like a fountain. Never did anything wrong. If Rowena didn't like her so much, she would hate her.

"You could whisper me the charm."

"I second that motion."

"Marigold, you intend to charm no one."

The only response was a tiny laugh oozing superiority.

It was strange, somehow, to have Marigold Weasley in the Clearwater Manor. Not that she was at all banished by any means; nor was it that Rowena didn't adore the older woman. But for eight years it had been so few others. She managed to free the lock of hair. Black and smooth, like a raven's wing, and dark like the manor could be. Marigold wasn't like that. She was alive, a mother with a family of her own and all that bright red hair of the Evans women that had spread to her children. She was Godric's nasty aunt, the one who had tormented him as a child in all the stories he still liked to share. She had never come to the manor before that night. In a way, it was almost beneath her. And then it was above. Others had come to see Lord Clearwater. Her own parents, Rose Gryffindor, her cousin Heather and her husband Caspian Evans. Even Helga's own father had come, on rare occasions that always ended in ice. But they were the rare, few guests who still had managed their own imprint upon the dark stone walls. Even in the classroom, the only warm spot there was.

She cringed. Sometimes there were too many dark memories. But it had been years. Eight long years that should have done their job in erasing memory.

Marigold didn't know such things, even though she was so older.

But that didn't matter, she thought, again smiling at her reflection. Tonight wasn't about any of that. It was a party down in Terminus' dusty hall, and anyone Godric or Salazar or Jonas wanted to invite was certainly welcome.

Including Lord Cordor's son.

"She's thinking of someone," she heard Helga whisper in a sing-song tone to Marigold, who laughed.

Of course she was. Derek was his name, and tonight she would dance with him.

And maybe Salazar would be watching.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rose could hear the girls in the other room, clattering on like a bunch of noisy snidgets. It made her smile, and deep inside came the urge to join them. She wasn't too old for that, was she? Sometimes she almost thought Marigold was too old to gossip and joke with Helga and Rowena, but what did she know? Marigold was about the same age as Helga. But there was one difference that had always made such an effect. Marigold was married with a family, and Helga wasn't.

She wondered if it were best that way. Rose loved Helga—who possibly couldn't? But the girl worried her. There were times, rare, but still there, where Helga was but a pale shadow against the wall, quiet and forgotten until Rose almost dared think it was some sort of glamour charm against the world. Perhaps it was—Helga had survived her first few years of Terminus' tutorship and had proven herself worthy of Terminus and Jonas' little game. She had become a talented witch, a beautiful young woman. True, not in the dark and stunning manner that Rowena Ravenclaw so flaunted around, but there was much beauty there, soft and pale and gold.

Sometimes Rose had to wonder what her son was thinking. Sometimes she had to wonder what everyone was thinking. Which son? She corrected herself, and her heart melted like it had first done eight years before.

Salazar was her son. It was a thought that she scarcely dared accept, but it gave her so much joy when she could. When she had been allowed to take him back, away from whatever painful darkness that bastard Siythe had thrown upon him—had it been so horrible? Salazar showed no scars, only a deep regret and mourning for everything that his father was. But when she had been allowed to take him back, it was everything to her. Everything. And he was her son. She could blind herself to everything contrary and still rejoice. He didn't know, of course. But he still called her mother. For that is what she had been, for the first time eight years ago.

She slid a brush through her red hair, admiring herself in the mirror. Goodness, she was turning into Rowena. Her sons spent too much time with that girl. Which they had to, of course. Terminus and Jonas still insisted on carrying out their silly little lessons. Oh well. Whatever made them happy.

Not that there was anything wrong with it. In fact, as the years had passed and more information had come her way, Rose found herself becoming excited about it, against her will. Sad that everyone could drag her to such a state.

"Ricky and Sal are destined for great things," Jonas had told her. "You know of the prophecies, you have to. You know how good this could be."

And even then. . . she felt a chill run down her spine. Even then she could see where the Fighters were coming from. Pity she had to see such things.

Well, the future was always in motion. And she held no love for the Fighters. For everything that they had done. . .

Her wand was in the pocket of her robe, always ready for action. But nothing big, nothing major. She hadn't done that for eight years.

She balked at the memory, the darkness of the cave and all those skeletons and his face. . . and to her horror it still gave her pleasure.

But some secrets were best left covered.


	13. Tanith

"You're thinking of her." Godric gently punched his friend on the shoulder, a maneuver he half-expected not to work.

Salazar blinked, his gaze breaking away from the dancers. "Who? The pest?"

"The pest," Godric repeated. Yes, the pest certainly was in view, whirling around the dusty hall of the castle, laughing as Derek Cordor held her closer. "She certainly is a flirt in her own right."

"A tramp," Salazar nodded. "Godric, exactly what are you accusing me of?"

Godric laughed, brushing hair from his eyes. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was accusing Salazar of. If there was anyone to tease, it would be Rowena Ravenclaw. He had heard enough satisfying rumors–or at least what the ladies considered satisfying, as if all rumors were nothing–to hold anything over the girl's head. "Maybe you should just ask her to dance."

"Hmm." Salazar's smile broke through the scattered beginnings of a beard. "She'd step on my foot. You know she would."

"She likes to tease. Much too smart for her own good."

"Godric, did you come all the way here to tell me anything important?"

"All the way from where?"

"You know what I mean."

Rowena and her partner whirled past, the girl giving both men a snippish grin. Salazar in his familiar immaturity stuck his tongue out at her. "Speak up, brother."

Brother. No word could have been more true. The past eight years in the same household had been pleasant ones. As pleasant as they could be, for nothing had come close to the terror of what had happened to Rowena and Heather. "Perhaps I could wait to bring this up to Jonas and Terminus."

Salazar glared. "Without speaking to me first?"

"It's just an idea. . ." He pretended not to notice as Salazar pointed a long finger at the floor. Something messy for Derek Cordor to slip in.

The fall was terribly funny, especially since Rowena gracefully managed to avoid it, with a quick step and a laughing hop backwards.

"You're aware that the Fighters have slipped back into silence during the past few years," Godric said.

Salazar moved his hand, the slippery mess fading. "Yes. The rumors are is that all threat has slackened."

"You can't possibly believe those."

"Well, they haven't tried anything lately."

"Ask the Weasley's little girl about it. She's great at making up stories about the Fighters."

"Godric, she's seven."

Marigold had brought her children to the manor. Most likely Latiya Weasley was chasing after her brothers and sisters upstairs and pestering Jonas. The girl was terribly intelligent. Which was part of Godric's plan.

"A school," he announced.

"A school?" Salazar stared at him, dark eyes brightening as his mouth flipped upward into a grin. "Like the silly lessons Jonas and Terminus did for us?"

Four pesky students running around in half-chaos trying to avoid doing whatever little spell work the elders wanted to dump on them. "Sort of."

Now he had Salazar's full attention. "I've already mentioned this to Helga. She thinks it's a wonderful idea. And I'm sure my uncle would approve."

"Yes, but. . .but why?"

"Why not? Does it bother you?"

"You've heard what the Fighters' seers have said. That's why they hate us so much. And the Muggles. Some dark power arising in the future."

"And you've heard what else has been said. Besides, seers are often wrong. And. . . well, they say good can arise from this situation."

Salazar shook his head, grin returning. "You're mad. Absolutely mad. Maybe I will ask Rowena for a dance."

Godric grabbed his sleeve. "Hear me out. You know you're not against the idea; I can see that much."

"You see wrong."

Godric refused to release his grip. "You know this is what Jonas and Terminus have been planning all along." He half-expected Salazar to pull away again. "You know. If we have a school, we can prepare for whatever comes along in the future."

"You trust our little band of wizard children?" One of Caspian and Heather's children darted past, a piece of cake splattered over his mouth. "You want to train one of those."

"Maybe when he's older. After all, Albeser is my cousin. And anyone in my family is, of course, bound to be wonderful."

"You fool." But at least Salazar paused to consider this. "Maybe you should go ask Helga to dance."

"You know she won't come down."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rose decided the girl had to be some relative of some guest she hadn't bothered to meet. After all, Lord Terminus knew plenty of people. And the castle was so huge that it was entirely logical for someone to get lost among the twisting staircases and doors and a house-elf feeling particularly tricky that night. Maybe it was one of Rowena's friends. Or kin to Helga or Heather. A Weasley. That family her little sister had married into was large enough.

She saw the girl pass the room, long blonde hair tied back in a thick braid plaited with green ribbons. Determined enough. At least she was pretending to know where she was going.

"Hello?" Rose called, not even bothering to glance out the door. "Are you lost?"

It took a moment for the girl to reappear; at first Rose believed the girl hadn't heard her.

Then the girl was back in the door way. A small girl, scarcely bigger than a child. Rose would have considered her one if she didn't have every other feature of a woman.

Rose set down her hairbrush and dipped into a curtsey. "I'm Lady Rose Gryffindor. I don't believe we've been introduced."

The girl returned the curtsey, her braid falling over her shoulders. "Aw, yes. I've heard many wonderful things about you, Lady. The one with those pitiful Muggle relatives of your late husband."

Rose decided already she liked the girl.

The girl arose, green eyes sparking with kindness. "My name is. . . Tanith. We haven't been introduced, Lady, but I am a friend of your son."

"Godric?"

Tanith shook her head. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting that one, though I have heard just as many wonderful things about him. I'm a friend of Salazar's."

Rose stiffened. Few people referred to Salazar as her son. "Oh. I don't believe he has mentioned you before."

Tanith giggled, a pleasant sound. She was a nice girl. "Don't think me a whore, Lady. I've no such affection for Salazar, so you must not question his respectability. I grew up with him, before the death of his father." Her green eyes locked with Rose's.

No. Rose found her hand slipping to where she kept her wand. "Yes. Siyth was one of the Fighters, that sect of the Order of the Pheonix. He was betrayed by them. A Muggle named Malak murdered him."

Tanith lowered her head, a moment of sorrow and grief. "How terrible. Salazar rarely mentioned it to me."

The girl knew nothing. Rose relaxed.

"Of course, we both know that's not the truth. Siyth Slytherin died in no such way, Lady. I'm sure you are perfectly aware of that."

The wand was in Rose's hand before she was aware. "I don't know of what you speak."

Tanith laughed again, louder than before. Her eyes sparkled as she did. It almost wasn't natural. "Don't worry, Lady Gryffindor. Your secret is safe with me. And I must compliment you on your tactics. A perfect opportunity."

The night was back, clear before Rose's eyes. The pile of bones, Siyth staring at her, throwing every old lie of love back in her face. . . so much pleasure.

"It was lovely to meet you, Lady Gryffindor," Tanith said, curtseying again. "And I perfectly understand your need for revenge." She left to leave the room. "I must find Salazar now. And I agree with you. Murder can taste so wonderful."

The wand dropped from Rose's hand.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Godric stood at the bottom of the staircase. Upstairs the girls were getting ready, the others besides Rowena who had thrown herself down to the dance early. No doubt Helga was upstairs with Marigold and his mother. Heather had to be around here somewhere, perhaps wondering where her child was. So many children. Albeser was wonderful to tease, though. And so would Helga. If she bothered to come down.

A spark of blonde hair in the shadows.

His heart skipped a beat. Helga? Helga rarely showed herself at these kinds of things.

"Helga?" he called. "Helga Hufflepuff, answer me this minute!"

The blonde hair returned. It wasn't Helga's.

"You must be Godric Gryffindor," a voice called. Charming. Female. She appeared, a girl. "I am Tanith."

He had never seen the girl before in his life.

Something wasn't right. For some reason, his first thought was to rush to his wand. But he couldn't. "I wasn't aware anyone by that name was invited."

"I'm a friend of your mother's. Perhaps she should introduce us."

"That's a lie." The words were out before he realized.

And then she was before him, a marvelous and pointless example of Apparating. She was terribly pretty, blonde with green eyes. "You are clever, Lord Godric. Much more clever than your father's kin gives you credit for."

"You know them?"

"I know what I need to know concerning them." Her dress was green, the color of grass and swamp. "They are furious about your father's death. Though I doubt you can remember that."

My father, he thought. He hadn't thought of him in years. Time passed and healed scars.

"Did your mother ever tell him how your father died?"

"She had mentioned it in passing." Why was he having his conversation? He grabbed Tanith's wrist.

With a laugh she pulled away. "He was good friends with your uncle. Frederick, I believe his name was. Frederick was killed by angry Muggles who feared his power. Your father. . . was furious. He was a Muggle, but he threw himself into what he didn't belong."

He grabbed at her wrist again. Why? He never treated a woman this way. In a moment of shame he pulled away. "How do you know this?"

Tanith laughed again. "Silly boy, everyone knows this. It was big news among our people, when your father was killed for what didn't concern him. Unfortunately, that's not the truth. Muggles didn't kill him."

"Muggles wouldn't kill their own kind."

"Don't be naive, Lord Godric. They do it all the time. But not in this case. Your father. . . was not killed by his own people."

Godric froze. He hadn't heard this. Did his mother know? "Who are you? You don't know my mother."

Tanith turned to leave. "You are very smart, Lord Godric. But I haven spoken to your mother before. But don't worry about your father; your mother has already given her revenge."

Behind him Godric could hear the sounds of the party, drowned as if in rain.

"Malak killed no one," Tanith continued. "He was innocent."

Malak had been found dead. He deserved it, for what he had done to Heather.

"Your father had a sword, a gift that was to go to you. Ask for it."

The girl called Tanith Appareted again.

"Ricky!"

He half-expected it to be her voice all over again. He stared up to see his mother rushing toward him, face pale. "Ricky. Did you see–?"

"A girl?" He nodded.

His mother stopped before him, panting. She suddenly looked so weak. "Ricky. . . find your brother. I need to tell you something."


	14. Truth

_"So don't try to save me now,  
Let the walls of my world all burn down.."_

--Martina McBride, "From the Ashes"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rowena may have had the reputation of little more than a tramp, but hardly a soul could dare call her a bad dancer. Which, ironically, fit marvelously well into the entire tramp situation, enhanced by that sweet laugh as Salazar twirled her low to the stone floor.

"Salazar," she giggled, grabbing his sleeve. "I didn't know..."

She was teasing, he knew. She would always be the pest. But he feigned innocence and held her down; hopefully it would irritate her after long enough. "Know?"

"You really are a ladies' man." Her dark curls actually touched the floor now, and her face was going flush.

"Ladies' man?" Now she really was mocking him. Girls... it was downright shameful, but he had always been a little afraid of them. Except Rowe and Helga and Heather and ever other female soul like that. They didn't count.

Another couple whirled past, throwing the tiniest of cruel glances their way. Just the attention he wanted. With a laugh of his own Salazar pulled Rowena back to her feet; he doubted the aesthetic view of the dance, hence the look. But it was fun. "Once again I'm glad we can embarrass ourselves in public. You're the only I can do that with."

"I think you're wrong. You're actually a very good dancer. You shall make all my beaus jealous."

Ah, yes. All the various young men that would tail her about. "Doesn't your father worry?"

She laughed and proceeded to push Salazar down into a dip. "You should witness the repelling charms we have around my home. Half of them were invented just for the purpose of keeping me locked up. I think we should have some like those on the school."

"School?" Rowena wasn't strong enough to hold him up without his help, and that moment of surprise had him with a thump on the floor. Several more pairs of eyes turned to stare. "What school?"

"You know," she said, delicately stepping away from him. "The school. You and Ricky. Don't you dare play the fool with me."

"You heard us?" A tremor of anger broke through him. What other things was Rowe capable of hearing?

"I have my ways." She extended a hand and helped him to his feet. "And no, Helga didn't tell me a single word. I understand she already knows." Her eyes hovered over the room, and then she pushed him into a corner. "I don't think anyone else should hear. Even though Jonas and Terminus already have this in mind. Why else do you think they've been keeping us around for years? When I was sick, right after... you know." For the first time that night the slightest hint of doubt passed over her face. "When I was sick, they were visiting me. They thought me asleep, but I heard them. They discussed a school, a place of training. And apparently it's what the Fighters do not want. Or didn't. But I..." She pushed in closer, so much that Salazar could hear the beating of her heart. "I think it would be a wonderful idea. We have all the children rushing about; it is probably best we put them to some use."

Salazar couldn't even speak. She was practically lying on him. Were they on something horizontal instead of a vertical wall.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Am I too close?" She spung out, landing next to him against the wall. "Is that better? Oh, Sal, I probably shoudn't tease like that. You know me too well. Though it does give me an idea to take some polyjuice potion respectively Helga and go have a little fun with Ricky..."

Against his will Salazar burst out a snort disguising a laugh. "Rowe, you're terrible."

"Why, thank-you."

"Amazing how you can go from something as serious as a school to... whatever else is going through your mind."

She laughed. "I'm sorry. It's just... it's just that I just finished reading a few scrolls all about the polyjuice potion. You wouldn't believe to what analyzations people can take some things. But it did inspire me, I'll admit. But speaking of our Godric Gryffindor..."

Salazar looked up. Ricky stood on the other side of the room, half hidden in the midst of people, but his eyes on them just the same. And looking like they held the secret of a century that would be doled out to the highest bidder.

Salazar in a corner with Rowena Ravenclaw. The end would never be heard. Salazar flashed a grin at Godric and stepped away. "We can continue this later, Rowe. I'm sure there are others awaiting your attentions."

"Of course there are." She blew a kiss in his direction.

"You and Rowena," Godric said thoughtfully, as soon as Salazar had joined him. "See? I said you would ask her to dance. I said so."

"You're so clever." Salazar, frankly didn't mind. The past eight years had been full of such things. "Is there a reason you're dragging me away from such a lady?"

"Rowena is our little sister far more than a lady." In an utter pivot of a moment he was serious. "Have you seen a girl wandering around this place? Blonde? Green eyes? Quite pretty?"

"I wish I had."

Godric didn't laugh. "Mother... she has something she wishes to discuss."

During one of Terminus' parties? Salazar' s hand squeezed itself into a fist. "What sort of thing?"

"I have no idea. But I think it has something to do with the girl. Mother is upstairs."

They found her pacing the floor of a guest room, her hair hanging loose at her shoulders and her eyes at the ground. Salazar had rarely seen his foster mother under stress... at least invisible stress. And then she looked up. Tears.

"I'm sorry to pull you away from the excitement," she murmured. "But..." The words were lost in a sob. Real wailing was clearly on its way.

Salazar held his breath and glanced at Godric. He was just as bewildered. And he had seen this strange girl.

"There's a girl here," Rose continued. "By the name of Tanith. Do either of you know where she came from?"

"I haven't even seen her," Salazar volunteered. The mood, unlike he hoped, was not lightened.

A thought seemed to stir her, but instead she shook her head. "I... I don't know what to make of her. And I'm sure I'm just being silly but..." She wiped a hand at her eyes, another sob breaking out. "I have something to say. Godric, your father--"

"Tanith mentioned something." Godric was pleading. "She said... she said he was killed... I had always thought he had been killed by Muggles."

"So did I. Until eight years ago." With a sigh she sat down on the bed. "I'm sure this must be very confusing to you boys. My brother Frederick was cruelly murdered. It had been so innocent. He had been at our home, playing with Marigold who was but a baby. And then he left. That was the last time we saw him alive. Muggles have their own ways against wizards, or at least they did then. Godric, your father was furious. He and Frederick were the best of friends, despite that one was a Muggle and one was a wizard. For months and months his life was devoted to finding those who had killed Frederick. And it was practically a battle out there. I believed the Muggles had hated him for betraying his own kind or whatever silly thoughts they might think."

A strange silence regardless of Rose's voice turmbled over the room.

"I'm a seer," she said. "At rare times. I can't make prophecies every hour, but now and then I do see things. And I saw the truth. For a long time I tried to ignore it. But how long can I ignore the truth? And then... and then a witness came forward. She said she had watched it all. The murder of my husband. And she had not even heard of my vision; I had told no one. So I went!" Her fingers clutched the blanket, tearing it. And then her eyes were on Salazar. "I had no choice. I found the murderer. I followed him into a tunnel. And... and I killed him."

A tunnel... a pile of bones... Salazar closed his eyes. Why was he seeing such things? What was attacking his thoughts?

"Sal..." Rose said softly. "I didn't think I could ever tell you..."

No.

Godric's declaration was aloud. "No," he repeated. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"Your father was killed by Siyth Slytherin."

"No!" The scream wasn't Salazar's--he couldn't feel himself letting it out. The only thing he could see was his foster mother sitting before him on the bed, crying. The only mother he had ever known and the kindest woman he could imagine. It had to be a lie.

"Sal, I'm so sorry. I couldn't tell you. You thought it was that horrible Malak, and I thought it best."

He couldn't reply. He leaned against the wall, heart pounding. Lady Rose had killed... his father. Had left him an orphan. Had left his father's body in that horrible tunnel.

His father who was responsible for what had happened to Rowe and Heather.

Wasn't this was what Ethelinda had mentioned?

"Your father was cruel, Snake-Talker," she had whispered once. "You are not like him, Snake-Talker."

He smiled. Wouldn't Ethelinda be pleased to hear this.

A memory tore in his heart, burning. He had loved his father. He had. But... But why did he feel this way? All he could hear were Ethelinda's words. Perhaps more pain would come later.

"If you ever could forgive me," Rose murmured, tearing him away from his thoughts. "If you ever could... I didn't know."

Godric was staring at his mother, with more horror than Salazar thought he himself could ever feel. Perhaps their places should be switched. But Godric did not matter in this.

"I forgive you," Salazar heard himself say. And he meant it. For some reason, he meant it.

Rose's sobs increased.

He had to leave. He had to leave now. For another thought entered his mind. What was Godric thinking?

Of course the man called Siyth had been bad. He had killed Godric's father.

Wouldn't Ethelinda love to hear this?

The door was under his hands. He pushed his way out before the tears came burning.


	15. Helga's Promise

Godric hated feeling this way. Hate was not a true feeling, could never be. Hate was wild and a phantasm. Disapproval was real. Even extreme dislike was real. But not hate. Hated clouded.

Even his father's kin knew this. As much as they frowned at his mother, as terrible and obnoxious as they were, they did not hate her. They could never. Instead they spoke often of what true nobility was, the infinititly spectacular mount of pride, dignity, and love that rose above everything. The only power by which to lead. That which kept the oaks in line.

Godric swore and punched the wall of his chambers. It did nothing to the stone, only left a reddening bruise like dying rose petals on his knuckles. What good was nobility in the wide world beyond the bare and safe walls of a protected manor when people cared for other things beyond duty?

Nobility had not saved his father. Not from that... he slapped healing balm onto his knuckles and sighed, breathing in the herbal vapors. He had barely known... Salazar's father. Before Salazar had become his brother, before everything, Siyth had been a complete mystery. The strange man of the swamp and wonderland where Salazar had grown up. Godric had never known the man, so what deity had given him right to judgement?

But who in cold blood murdered a grieving man?

Survival. Why was that so necessary? If his father had been more bent on surival than _noble_ revenge, perhaps the past would have been different. Survival was all that mattered.

He could already feel the wound cleansing, covering up. Survival. He thought of survival for such a mere scratch. Who was he to consider survival? Nobility was all he knew.

At least he didn't hate Salazar. That hurt more than anything. The closest person there was in the vicinity to hate.

Or Tanith. Tanith had known, whomever she was. How the hell had she known?

A knock thundered the locked door, shaking Godric from his thoughts. "Godric?"

Godric swore again. Couldn't he be allowed to mope in any semblance of peace? "Uncle Jonas?"

There was a pause, heavy with silence, before the door creaked open and Jonas' face appeared. Smiling, of all things.

Godric felt his face wanting to mirror it. Jonas had that effect on people.

Jonas slid into the room, more cheerful ghost than human. "Do you fear the starting of a school to such an extent?"

School? The word echoed over the room, senseless to Godric's mind before he finally remember. The idea he had been trying to spread at the party. "I support such an idea very much."

Jonas nodded, smile not wavering. And to think innocent Muggle peasants would consider him some omnicient mage of the wizarding woods. The naive fools. "I thought as much. And yet you are in locked away in your room throwing the tantrum equal to Marigold's youngest. I thought you were to be the honorable cousin."

This time the smile broke its way through, and inwardly Godric cursed himself. That Jonas. "How dare you ruin such a perfectly horrible moment."

"It is my bane," Jonas said with a laugh. He all but floated his way to Godric's bed, where he proceeded to sit as if he owned the place. As if Godric would dare argue with him. "You know, our seers see good things for this school."

"Besides the dark power that will arise from it?"

And finally the deep smile faded into the wrinkled face. "Some say that is a revenge. It is necessary, this school to be created. Whatever else you are feeling right now, it will not stand in the importance of this school. In fact, I insist we look for a location for it tomorrow; I'm sure your fellow students will agree to that. If I can get Helga away from her father... Oh, I will simply leave that task up to you, Ricky."

Godric's heart pounded in a fresh leap of excitement. And to think he had almost forgot. Latiya and Albeser and all the other little pests of his family. Finally, something for them to do. "I... I agree to that, Uncle."

"Good." Jonas stood up from the bed and returned to the door.

Godric no longer felt like moping. Perhaps what his mother said was just a dream.

"Oh, and one more thing, Ricky." Jonas held the door open, allowing another person to enter. "Your aunt has a message for you."

Marigold slid into the room, smiling broadly and not without a little embarrassment. "It was Uncle Jonas' command..."

"Of course it wasn't," Jonas finished, disappearing into the corridor.

Marigold watched him go for a moment, then slammed the door. "That silly old fool," she murmured lovingly. "Ricky, I promise this was not my idea."

Godric stared at her, trying to take in her excitement. What surprise party was there? Terminus' party had been the prior day... and to think of what that had brought with it was too much.

She didn't continue yet, but pranced up to him and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Ricky, I am so sorry we haven't spent much time together in the past few years. But after my marriage and the children... it's so diffucult. You are of marrying age, so I hope you'll understand. If you ever plan on asking Helga's father for her hand..."

He felt his own face grow hot. "I don't..."

"You don't anything." She flicked a strand of red hair from her shoulder and opened her hand, revealing a small roll of parchment. "I shouldn't have brought it up, for it is none of my business. But my business is my children and I do know what you and Jonas and all are planning." She gazed up at him, lips pursed like a frozen river. "You do plan on Latiya contributing to your little endeavor, don't you?"

Latiya had been one of the first young witches to come to mind. "Of course... Marigold, is this what you've come about?" The parchment in her hand was already hovering toward him.

"I had to make it interesting," she said. "That's what I'm here about. Jonas forced me to give it to you." She gave a final curtsey, half-mocking a true one. "Now I really must be going. I was pulled from a conversation with Rose." She left.

He held the parchment in his hand, fingering the rough texture. Rose. His mother. She just had to bring that up.

Marigold didn't know, did she?

Did the parchment pertain to it? Carefully he rolled it open.

A map of the Gryffindor land. A small red circle decorated one patch of trees.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

She really needed to be smacked, Helga thought as she crept through the grass. She should return to her human form and smack herself good across the face, in memory of her dear father, and just run back to his house. Naira would be worried sick. Helga hated to worry her; she was an awfully good woman.

But sometimes...

She had barely seen Godric yesterday at the party. She had been upstairs, telling herself among all the other women's demands that she really ought to go down to the dancing, at least make the polite gesture of an appearance. At least she might have tended the children. Apparently the party had been made more interesting by Latiya Weasley and Carnation Evans "accidently" managing to turn Latiya's baby sister a vivid shade of purple. Helga laughed at the memory; Marigold had been wonderful at feigning anger.

Speaking of the devil... Latiya ran past, red braids flailing out behind her and tears running like a melting glacier down her cheeks.

Helga gave the finest badger blink she could give. What was Latiya doing at the Gryffindor place? She wasn't allowed to be sneaking around like... Helga. But Latiya seemed upset. No, didn't seem. The girl clearly was. What had happened?

In an instant Helga left her badger form behind and chased after Latiya. The child could run fast. Emotions could do that to people. It wasn't until a patch of woods that Helga was able to catch her. And that was because Latiya had heard her tramping behind in the trees. Perhaps Helga should have remained a badger.

"H-Helga?" Latiya gasped between tears. "What are you doing here?"

Helga laughed and reached to hug the child. "I should be asking you that question."

Latiya sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve in the most childish fashion imaginable. If only it didn't do so much to melt Helga's heart. "I'm hiding from Marglan."

"Marglan?"

Latiya shrugged. "Marglan Gryffindor. He's... he's one of Aunt Rose's lord's family. They're at the manor, too. I hate Muggles."

Oh, dear. The classic struggle of wizard against Muggle. "You shouldn't hate, Latiya. It's not nice."

"Neither is he."

Helga sighed. How could his properly be explained? "Well... he's just a silly Muggle."

That, at least, stole a smile out of the girl. "You're funny."

"Thank-you. So are you."

Latiya gave another sniff and snuggled against Helga. "I like you. Will you protect me from Marglan if he comes back?"

Helga looked down at the little girl, smiling up at her with tears still in her eyes. What a promise to make against some obnoxious little boy that was simply going on whatever his parents told him? But how could she refuse. "Yes, Latiya. I'll protect you from anything and everything."

"You had better. Or I'll tell my mama."

She doubted Marigold would care for so much. "Now, should we go back to the castle?" Rescuing a child. What a perfect excuse to talk to Godric.

"Yay!" Latiya skipped to the edge of the wood, then stopped and gasped. "It's Ricky!" She darted back to Helga's side.

"Ricky's coming?" And she was covered in grass and who knew what else. "Latiya, would you like to play hide-and-seek?"

Latiya gave an enthusiastic nod and dove into the bushes. Helga was right behind her. She felt well-hidden, still able to see Godric as he crept through the trees.

He was alone. Alone and planning on keeping it that way, as he looked back and forth checking for spies or whatever else he feared to be coming. Parchment was clutched, wrinkling, in one hand, and a metal spade in the other.

"Is he going on a treasure hunt?" Latiya whispered.

Helga shushed her.

Godric was now staring at a tree, with such concentration that a fire might soon burst forth to consume it. Then, like kneeling in prayer, he got to the ground and jammed the spade into the earth near the roots. The task was quick, dirt flying into the air. Then he stopped, again staring. He reached into the fresh hole and pulled out a sword. Helga could see the rubies gleaming in the helm.

"That sword," a voice whispered from behind Helga.

She spun around, seeing no one.

But the voice continued. "That is it. The sword the Fighters do not know of. The end to all the trouble. It will be used, in lifetimes to come, to defeat the mistake that he has done."

Still, no one appeared.


	16. Warnings and Weddings

A sword. Godric's fingers tightened around the hilt, skin pressing against the cold soil frozen likes sheets of ice to the metal. And yet it still gleamed. Beneath the dirt and the rust the stubborn spiders it gleamed. Beautiful. He had never seen a sword quite like this. Of course, he was not one to be knowledgeable in the craftsmanship of swords, but he had his common sense. This sword… this sword was fine. Skillful work had been devoted to it. Very skillfull. If he could only…

No. His hands unclenched, and the sword almost hovered in his palms, rubies winking out. This was madness. Who would bury a sword… on this land? His father's kin wouldn't be so foolish as to that. To them, a weapon was a piece of art, not to be used, only admired. And certainly not hidden in the earth. So why had it been placed here?

And why had Jonas known of it? Unless…

His father's?

Using the base of his palm, he wiped the dirt away from the blade. It couldn't be. Though Godric admitted to having never really known the man. Though he supposed… he supposed Muggles could have glories of their own. Like this.

His father. Immediately the thought of Salazar dug its way back in, but he shut his mind against it. No. Salazar was the closest thing to a brother he had ever had. Would ever have.

_Think of him._

Godric froze. The sword nearly fell, rolling until it clung only to his fingertips.

_Think of him, yes. Think of him. It's best this way._ A thought, almost a voice, and growing louder with each word.

Something rustled in the trees nearby. Godric whirled, his fingers itching to use the sword. But no. That was foolish. Very foolish. It was just someone. One of the children playing. Or perhaps not even that, nothing but a little animal. Harmless. Incapable of speech.

There were footsteps behind him, soft and broken by the grass. "Think of him. Think of him and you will be the hero. The one to prevent evil. You have the sword."

Godric turned.

A shape. No, not even a shape. Red mist, like fire through rain. The top of it matched his height, but none of it touched the grounded.

Someone screamed.

Latiya?

The flame continued. It had no mouth. How could it speak? "I know he is your brother. I am perfectly aware of that."

Godric's heart twisted. A spell. It had to be someone's spell. This couldn't exist. "Be gone."

It laughed. Laughter rang from it, rolling and twisting it's flaming body. "You wouldn't know. You couldn't possibly know."

The sword found its way to his hand, hilt against flesh, tight and willing. He swung, the blade gleaming in the air as soil continued to fall away in frozen, earthy chunks. "Be gone!" He couldn't dispel it. He knew how. Why couldn't he dispel it?

The metal sliced through the flame, which gave way momentarily like scattered smoke. "A Muggle sword? You feel a Muggle sword can hurt me? The foolish ones who would burn you, chase you out, replace you with their own gods and thoughts of magic? I do this for their benefit."

Godric almost fell forward, the sword like an anvil in his hands. What was this thing talking about? "Who are you? Who sent you?"

"You call my masters the Fighters, and that's what they do. Fight for the future, for our world and our people. They will not let it be destroyed. They will not let further evil come into this world. And that is why you must kill your friend."

Salazar. He didn't hate Salazar. Why would he hate him? "And why?"

"Because the evil will come through him. If he dies now, the centuries will pass as they should. It will hurt, and that is understandable. But it will be best. And this sword…" The thing laughed again. "They say this sword will be enough. A Muggle weapon. I think not. They have their seers, but their seers are mad."

Godric panted, willing himself to lift up the sword. It wouldn't work, he wasn't stupid.

"Kill him. Kill him and be the hero of the world. Of both our kind and… Muggles."

"Salazar did nothing."

"Sometimes innocents will die. But it is best this way. He was cursed at birth. No fault of his own. But it is best he die."

Godric closed his eyes. What was this? Why couldn't he think of a spell to chase it away? "I don't…"

"One more thing." The flame almost bounced, shimmering the air. "The school."

"The school?" How could this… thing… possibly know about that?

"You know of what I speek. Do not build it. This was is much easier. Much."

The spell. Godric finally thought of it. But by then, the flame spell was gone.

The sword dropped from his hands to the ground, striking with a metallic thud. Kill Salazar. No. He could never do that.

Jonas and Terminus… they had both mentioned this. Suddenly he was furious. Why was none of this to be made clear to him? He searched the grounds around him, all through the green and brown, green and brown endlessly. Someone was out there, someone had sent that.

"Ricky!" A small figure tore from the bushes and wrapped itself around his legs, tears running down its face. It took him a moment to realize it was Latiya. She stared up at him, wide eyes and terrified. "I… was watching in the bushes. I didn't think it would be bad. Please don't tell my mama!"

She had seen the whole thing? The scream. Without even thinking, he laughed. "You…"

"Please don't be mad at me. Or Helga. Helga was just comforting me."

"Helga?" Godric's eyes turned. "Helga, are you there?"

Nothing for a moment, and then the blonde girl stepped shyly into view. "Ricky, what was that thing?"

He sighed, hating the thing all over again. "I couldn't send it away. If I had known you two were there…"

"We shouldn't have watched." Her voice was clear, full of remorse. "Forgive me. But Salazar… it mentioned him. It's not what Terminus told us, is it?"

"I… I don't know."

"You can't kill him. You can't." Her hand found its way to his arm.

"I know that."

"Do you?"

She was so strong that way. Why did she have such strength? Give her the right temperament, and she could just drive in whatever guilt she so desired. He couldn't give her that reason.

He took a deep breath. It was hard to breathe. "I promise you. You know me better than that."

She smiled, the corners of her mouth chasing everything away. "I know that."

Latiya gave an interrupting little gasp. "Are you gonna kiss?"

Helga burst into giggles. "I forgot she was here."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"He is of marrying age, Rose."

Rose refused to look at Jonas. "I know that. But he…"

"He's still your baby." Jonas laughed. "Women. You all think alike. But that isn't what troubles you, is it?"

He was approaching her, from the back. He hadn't become the most silent of walkers in his old age.

"Jonas, I refuse to play your little game. He and Helga… I'm his mother, I can tell it."

"But things are starting to happen. It's all catching up. Your vision."

She sighed. That hellish vision. Why had she ever told him of it? "They found out yesterday. I don't know what came over me. I told them everything."

"I know that." His hands twisted, just out of the corner of her eye, twisting and rubbing the air until… no, she was mad. Jonas was a squib, always would be. Then the hands stilled, then reached into the pocket of his robe. "You're not too old for candy, are you?"

She laughed and pushed the offering away. "You cannot bribe me. Jonas, I can't force that upon them."

"It's to save her. We've discussed this. You saw what might happen to her."

Fury rose up in her, spreading to her mouth, and she whirled on her uncle. "Then how do you know this choice will change that? Perhaps that would only be forcing it into existence!"

Jonas stared back at her, calm as stone. "You hurt, don't you?"

Hurt. Did he know anything of it? She pressed her fingers against her eyes, feeling the salty tears. "Jonas, I still see her. Soaked, drowning, bleeding. Helga cannot die. She's too sweet a girl."

"Then do this."

He was right. Somewhere in her stubborn heart she knew that. Perhaps she should humor him. "All right, then. Godric will be betrothed immediately. How furious to his relatives. And exactly who do you suggest?"

"Your brother's unorthadox wedding with Heather turned out remarkably well. Perhaps we should keep in the blood."

Rose's heart went cold. "Who—"

Jonas smiled. "It will work fine. Betroth the boy to Rowena Ravenclaw."


	17. Hogwarts

"Rowena?"

She hated that sound in her parents' voices, the one that just screamed a simpering self-glory in whatever plan they had just hatched. Normally, she didn't mind—they were doing it all the time. Growing up as their daughter, she was of course used to such actions. She tossed another handful of armadillo skin shreds into her cauldron and watched as it boiled up into a mess of purple smoke. Like it was supposed. She thought. It was an experimental potion, but if her theory was correct… Yes, purple definitely was the correct color. Now all she had to do was let that stew for precisely thirteen minutes… hopefully her parents would be finished with her by then. She turned up the fire, pushed the sweat out of her eyes, and opened her bedroom door. "Yes?"

She almost screamed. They normally weren't waiting for her like that. It seemed a bit strange, up in the chamber halls like this… exactly what did they need to speak to her about?

"Rowena," her father repeated. "We have some news for her."

She smiled. Of course she had been able to assume that much. "What news?" If it were about that silly castle investigation for the school, she already knew about that. Hadn't she been the one to tell them? So that meant it didn't have anything to do with that at all. Her grin broadened. Ooh, a real surprise. Lucky her.

"Rowena," her mother whispered, tugging at her own hair.

Rowena reached up to her curls and blushed. A bit of owl feather had been snagged. "So what is this news and why doesn't it merit a more formal situation?" Therefore it must either be very important or very trivial.

Her father was all but glowing. "We received an owl this morning from Lady Rose Gryffindor. She has proposed a marriage."

A marriage! Rowena felt suddenly very lightheaded. What did he mean by that? A thousand possibilities swam through her mind, each one more mad than the last. Lady Gryffindor. Godric's mother. The lady who was fostering… She gasped and put her hand to hear heart. Salazar! This wasn't about him. Only he… She had better be more careful to make sure no more potion ingredients became tangled in her hair. She stared up at her parents, scarcely daring to breathe.

"And we have agreed to this marriage proposition, especially that the situation was explained to us."

What situation?

Her father must have noticed her curiosity, because his grin somewhat faded.

Something was very wrong with this. But what could be wrong with this? What situation would make it necessary for her and Salazar to be wed? Not that she minded, and yet…

"So you will be wedded to her son Godric."

It was if they had proposed a death sentence on her. She stared at them, horrified. "Godric?" she repeated. "I am to marry Godric?"

"Yes," her mother said gently. "I've suspected you've had… other interests—"

"Mama, of course I've had other interests, but—"

She held up her hand, channeling the same energy she had used when Rowena had been but a child. "I know, dearest, I know. But you have been friends with Godric Gryffindor for years. It will be a suitable marriage."

That was true. She did like Godric. Very much, in fact. She shook her head. But Salazar… she had never dared…. Even when they were children, he had always been her favorite. And she had suspected the mutual of him. But she had never dared consider a marriage. Did it always hurt so much to lift up one's hopes? "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have reacted so."

"Rowena," her father said.

She shook her head, a gesture to him not to worry. "I will marry him, of course. It will be a fine marriage." Did she sound so dead to the outside world? She stepped back in her room and closed the door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Salazar couldn't look at either of them. He stared across the lake, so different from the one he had grown up next to. Clear, blue, pretty. He could already sense the aura of the merfolk city down there. A far more interesting subject than how Godric and Rowe were acting.

Rowe.

He picked up a stone. Not good for skipping. He held it tight in his fist, willing it to smooth and flatten and round. A simple trick, manipulating matter. Rowe would have turned up her pretty little nose at it. He flung his arm back and released the stone, listening with relish as it scattered across the lake's surface. One, two, three… all the way up to thirteen. On the thirteenth, a giant tentacle splashed up from the surface, absorbing the blast of the stone.

Salazar didn't blink. A giant squid. Well, he had heard rumors from Jonas. So merfolk and a squid. What else would be more perfect for a school?

He still couldn't believe they were actually doing this. What crazy plot would Jonas and Terminus pop up with next? He turned back to the castle, large and dripping. New. How many wizards had been put to work on it? Building things did not come easily, no matter how skilled the wizard. The others were in there, somewhere. Though he couldn't imagine Godric and Rowe being anywhere near one another.

Salazar and Godric had only heard the news the day before. It had almost been a test, to see if they could repair their friendship. If Godric had been anything but horrified… Salazar bit his lip. Did he really consider Rowe this way? The little pest? He still remembered the night they had rescued her. How horrible it had been.

He had never been so scared in his life.

"Salazar?"

He turned around. She was there. He hadn't heard her come up. "Rowe!" He almost stumbled back into the lake.

He hadn't spoken to her, either, that day. "I thought you were inside with the others. The castle… you couldn't have possibly finished looking at it."

She shook her head. "It's… it's beautiful. It will be a great school. No Muggle could find this place. Not in a million years. Latiya seems to think it a marvelous secret."

Salazar smiled. Little Latiya. Helga had insisted on bringing her. As comfort? He knew how Godric felt about Helga. "It's going to be wonderful. Did Terminus or Jonas say when they want the school to begin?"

"Within the year. They think it could never be too soon." She ran a hand through her curls, sighing. "I only wish I really knew what was going on. What is this school going to do for the future? I just wish we really knew what was coming. Salazar…"

Something was so strange about this. Him and her. The lake before them. This new castle, their future, just beyond. It wasn't right. Why did Rose do this?

Rowe was meant to be his.

"I take it you heard," she said softly. "I'm… I'm really happy about it."

"No, you're not."

She looked at him, eyes filling with tears. "Salazar…"

"You've liked me ever since we were children," he spat. Did it sound so harsh? It wasn't supposed to.

"I liked everyone." He could barely hear her.

"You were such a pest," he muttered. He stepped closer, grabbing her hand.

It was enough. With a sob breaking forth, she tumbled into his chest. It was all he could do to simply keep his arms around her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Latiya decided that she really, really, really liked the castle. Really. She stretched up from her placement on Godric's shoulders, reaching her little arms toward the stone ceiling. She could feel the magic already. She had never been inside a castle that was truly magical. "I like it!"

Uncle Jonas chuckled. He was so funny. "Of course you do, girl. Of course you do. Our people, our side, have been building it for years. And now it is ready."

"And yet you led us between half a dozen other places," Godric said. "All in a plan to lead us here."

Jonas shrugged. "It was Terminus' idea."

"Wizards built this with magic?" Latiya asked, watching in fascination as a staircase slid up to meet them. "You didn't help, Uncle Jonas, did you?"

"No—"

"I know that you can't because you're a Squib."

He laughed again. "Your cousin is wise, Ricky."

Godric tickled her legs, and she shrieked and swatted at his hand. "Ricky, are you going to let me come to this school?"

"Of course," Godric replied. "You're going to learn her, and Albesar, and Carnation, and anyone else whom we let in."

"No Muggles?"

"No Muggles."

Good. Because she didn't like Muggles. All of the Gryffindor people, except for Aunt Rose and Godric, were stupid and didn't know any magic.

"It's beautiful," Helga said quietly.

Helga had been sad all day, Latiya had noticed. Though she didn't know why. Helga should be happy. She was going to start a school with Ricky and Rowena and Salazar and everyone else. She was going to be one of Latiya's teachers. So she should be happy. Of course, Ricky hadn't been exactly happy all day, either. No one had. Oh well.

"It'll need a name," Helga said.

Godric nodded. "It does."

Yes. All good schools needed a name. Especially if they were in such an exciting building. "Can I name it?" Latiya asked.

Helga and Jonas stared at her.

"I suppose she could suggest a name," Jonas said.

Oh! She hadn't really expected this. It would have to bea very good name. The best name. So she said the first thing that came into her mind. "Hogwarts!"

Ricky laughed. "What kind of name is that?"

She shrugged. "I made it up."

Helga giggled. "I like it. I suppose Salazar and Rowena will have to agree."

Ricky didn't look at her. "I guess we'll suggest it, then."

So she had come up with a name. Good for her. Now what to do? "I wanna get down and play!"

Helga looked to Jonas.

"Eh, she should be fine," Jonas said. "I believe Terminus is back in one of the rooms. Go find him, child."

"Yippee!" She struggled on Godric's shoulders. "I want down."

The moment she was on the floor she ran as fast as she could in the other direction. The castle was so big! She felt like she was going to get lost. But that would be fun. Oh, if only her cousins and brothers and sisters could come play with her. It would be the best place for hide-and-seek. Yes, definitely hide-and-seek.

Footsteps echoed behind her. Latiya whirled around, seeing only a flash of blonde hair entering a room.

Helga had blonde hair. Was Helga playing a game with her? Maybe Helga was playing hide-and-seek. Well, Latiya would have to follow her, then. She crept as silently as she could down the hall to the room and peered inside.

Terminus was in there. That friend of Uncle Jonas'. He was talking to the lady. The lady wasn't Helga. It was someone… someone that looked sort of familiar. Hadn't she been there the day of that party? They were talking so quietly that she couldn't hear them.

"I agree with you," the lady suddenly said, much louder. "Don't you understand that? I, more than anyone, wants this school to exist."

Terminus muttered something else. He looked mad.

"Speak up, fool," the lady said.

Latiya decided she didn't like her. Not one bit. She was probably a Muggle.

"Tanith," Terminus began. "If that is your name. I hate to do this but—" He yanked his wand from his robe.

The lady, Tanith, or whatever her name was, beat him to it. She held hers lightly in her fingers, yet her nails dug into the multi-patterned wood. Latiya had never seen a wand like that.

"Avada Kedavra!" the lady shrieked, her voice echoing through the room. Blinding green light shot from her wand, striking Terminus.

When it was all over, Terminus didn't move.

Latiya didn't dare scream. Someone had to help Terminus…

The lady smiled and disappeared.

Maybe she was still in the room, hiding. But Latiya couldn't think of that. What had she been told to do when someone was hurt? She ran to Terminus' side. His eyes were open. He wasn't sleeping.

"No," she whispered. He wasn't…? She had never seen a dead body before. No.

She backed away from him. "Help!" she screamed. "Help!"


	18. The Prophecy

Screaming wasn't all that hard to hear, not at the volume of terror that ripped through the castle and its land like a banshee, amplified by all the magic, pained and inside, that could break out from the heart of a little girl.

The flower Rowena had been slipping into her hair drifted to the ground as her head jerked toward the castle. "Latiya didn't find a cockroach. You know how they can get."

The screaming was continuing, long and hard with cries of help.

Rowena bit her lip. "Salazar, perhaps we should go see…"

He would prefer to stay out here with her. That's what anyone in his position would prefer. "Jonas and Terminus will…"

That wasn't relaxing Rowe. Instead it only deepened the harsh lines scarring at her face. "Terminus…"

"Terminus," Salazar echoed. Unexplainably came something stabbing into his mind. The look on Rowe's face. Latiya's screaming from the castle.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Come on," he whispered, springing forward across the grounds, Rowe just behind him. Not far enough, not at the speed he was going. But he had no choice whatsoever. If he could explain what was going on in his heart…

And other things. In a moment the world became so much more than living around him. Movement. Sentience. Voices all but whispering into his mind.

It was alluring, like old wine.

_Run_, came the command in those words but none. _Run to where you are needed. For now you must know. Know what you must do. You are needed there. Sacrifice on your part. Run._

"Salazar!" Rowe screamed behind him. "Be—"

With a deeper intake of breath he was over the stump, no doubt the danger she had pointed out.

It couldn't be anything else.

How strange it was, like a dream, that it was so hard to reach a castle so close… His muscles began to ache like they had never on so many runs and hunts. The times as a child racing through the swamp… Lungs hurt, screaming. But the command persisted.

He needed to be there. He really needed to be there. Something was very wrong.

"Salazar!" Rowe repeated, growing more and more distant behind him. "Don't—"

He finally reached the castle. Doors open, as Jonas had left them. As they should be. He darted through them, cape almost catching on the splintering wood. Magic shouldn't splinter naturally.

"Jonas!" he called. "Terminus!"

There was no answer. He heard voices, though, echoing in the halls above them. Latiya had stopped her screaming, the faint voice he attributed to her glowing tears.

No.

Where were they?

Stairs were ahead. He could make those twist for him. He had to. If it would reach them faster… He pulled them towards him, twisting them. If they could all be like that. He flew up them, weakness gone, feeling more strength than he had.

He was supposed to be here right now. For some reason he could not explain, he was supposed to be here. He stumbled onto the next floor, hating the way he echoed so loudly with every movement he made.

"Godric!" he called. "Jonas!"

Somewhere in the labyrinth he could hear a reply. Wherever it went… Blindly, he spun a corner.

"I have been waiting for you."

He skidded to a stop.

The girl was blonde, golden haired. Beautiful. And there was something very familiar in her, the way she smiled at him. With a grimacing frown, she curtsied. "I have missed you, Salazar. The one they call the Snake-Talker."

He froze, mind considering to go past her. "How do you know that name?"

The sadness broke out into a forced smile. "I know many things about you, Salazar."

"You're her. Tanith. I've heard of you."

"You should have done more than simply heard of me. I am more than that."

What was so familiar about her? "What are you?"

"Myself. Tanith." The sadness returned, shadowing her face. "And little more. I am simply a messenger."

The voices of Godric and the others had vanished. It was just them, he and this strange woman Tanith, echoing voices in a dark hall. "What message do you bring?"

"Someone is dead," she whispered, drawing closer to him. "A horrible accident."

Dead. "Who?"

"A great wizard. His name was Terminus Clearwater. Now that all remains of his family are the Squibs. The magic is lost. It is a tragedy."

"Terminus?" Salazar felt the scream Latiya had given welling up in his own throat. His body found motion again. He had to see. He had to know.

"No!" Tanith shouted, raising a hand.

Salazar stopped. Of his own will, but not…

She lowered her hand, eyes burning into his. "Do you have any idea who you are, Salazar Slytherin? Do you have any idea what you will be bringing to pass?"

"Shut up," he muttered.

She wasn't phased. "An innocent man is now dead, for the cause you will bring. You cannot escape it. It was formed the day you were born."

What did she know of his birth? Even he knew little… He stared at her, mind screaming to get to Terminus and the others. But… "What are you speaking of?"

"Something is coming Salazar. Something great and terrible and powerful. Something that will bring what the magic people need. What is life, what we have? We are dying even now. Why this when we will be the universe? The stars and the sun and the moon? It's like the phoenix, Salazar Snake-Talker. Destruction and death comes in fire and burning, but it is only through that destruction of everything that the best will arise."

"You speak in riddles." And he hated it. Riddles were for fools and simpletons. Why was she wasting his time.

"Because I know not much more than you will," she replied gently. "This is where you come in, Salazar. The great and terrible, the hero of our people, will be coming through you. In your generations you will bring death. It has been shown. But those you call the Fighters, they fear this. They all fear it." Her eyes were shining now. "He will come. They don't want him to, which is why they seek to already destroy your precious school. They will stop at nothing. But you cannot let them try."

"You make no sense," Salazar spat.

"Do I not?" She smiled. "But always remember that I am your friend, Salazar. And remember what I have told you. I have always been your friend, and I always will be."

Then, in a flash, she was gone.

A dream. That was his first impression. A dream of a strange girl who spoke nonsense. Terminus is what mattered. Once again able to move, he fled, calling Godric's name.

Terminus lay in a room, nothing extraordinary. He was dead.

Salazar stumbled into the room, gasping, heart bleeding at what he saw. "No."

Helga, cradling the old man in her arms, looked up at him with tears in her eyes. No different from anyone else.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"We have to end this," Godric muttered. He had stepped from the room where they had found Terminus, Jonas at his side. "Uncle Jonas, we cannot do this school. Not if it's going to bring this about." That was a lie. That wasn't what he felt.

Jonas laughed, humorless, sound full of bitterness. "Terminus was a sacrifice. You cannot end that."

How could he speak that way? Godric felt rage inside of him, burning at Jonas. "Terminus is dead!"

"And you say we end the school?" Jonas turned on him, more forceful than Godric had ever seen. "I know you are hurting, boy, I know that. We all are. Terminus was one of my closest friends!"

What did Jonas know of hurt? Terminus had never been his teacher. But… Jonas was right.

"Ricky, do you not want the school?"

Godric couldn't lie. He shook his head, fighting back tears.

"Then we won't be ending it." Jonas kept walking, a forceful march, movement that demanded Godric keep up with him. "You have no idea what good this school will bring about. Seers have mentioned it. Both evil and good. But by only allowing the evil can the good be brought about."

"It won't be for centuries," Godric muttered.

"No. But we need it now. Here, drink something hot." A cup of steaming cider appeared in Jonas' hand.

As if by magic.

But it couldn't be. Jonas… Jonas was a Squib. Godric stared, fascinated. "But—"

Jonas only smiled, the bitter smile of a prank forced out of necessity out of tragedy. "Jonas the Squib. Easy pretension over much skill. You have to learn about the fine art of lying if you wish to run a school boy."


	19. Picking Students

"So you really saw him, Latiya? You really saw him?" Carnation Evans pumped the needle hard through her fabric. The slightest thought upon that needle and even though it was no where near her cousin, it would…

Latiya shrieked and pressed her hand again her thigh. Another trick. Bad magic, her mother and father told her. Little tricks that no one should do. "Carnation, I will tell your mama!"

The effect was instantaneous. The single threat that would no doubt be forgotten in a matter of minutes was already in her eyes and bringing out the tears. "You wouldn't! You wouldn't! I'll tell you what you did!"

"Oh?" She held out her own needle, edge flickering in the firelight. "And may I ask just what I did?"

And the former threat passed. Carnation tossed her needle to the floor, red thread dangling from the edge like a strip of blood across the stone floor. "Don't lie! We all saw you!"

"Where did you see me?"

"In Aunt Rose's room."

Albeser, sitting in the corner with a toy horse that was busily running circles and neighing in a minute voice, nodded solemnly. "I was there, too. I saw you. I saw what you did."

"See?" Carnation asked, scooping up her needle and tangling out the thread. "My little brother saw you there, and I think it's just terrible that you picked up Aunt Rose's hairbrush."

"I only wanted to see it!" Latiya cried. Had it really been so much of a crime? Aunt Rose's hairbrush was the only she had ever seen with so many stones on it, and Helga had told her that it had a certain spell upon it that could keep hair from ever tangling. "I didn't use it!"

Albeser giggled. "I can tell her that you did. She likes me."

"At least I don't stab needles through people!"

"I didn't stab you!" Carnation defended. "I only…"

"Bad magic," Albeser sang. "Bad, bad dark magic."

"Shush or I'll do it to you. It is not dark magic." Carnation paused thoughtfully, anger subsiding. "Dark magic is like… what happened to Terminus."

If Latiya had dared she would have performed the same spell upon Carnation. "You can't say that… you don't know what happened to him." Her fist closed tightly, her own nails biting into her skin. "You weren't there, and you're not supposed to say his name!"

Albeser uttered a small cry, even his toy horse skidding to a hault. "I forgot… Latty, I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Carnation's small mouth curved into the worst frown she could muster. "It's been almost six months and she's never going to tell us the story."

"You're not allowed to hear it!" Even Latiya didn't realize she could scream so loud. "You're not allowed to hear that story, and I'm not supposed to be talking about it to anyone but the grown ups, so there! That's what my father and your father says, so stop asking!"

Tears filtered around Albeser's eyes, muddy buckets when wet. They were brown, like his father's. Like hers, like the brown eyes that scattered themselves throughout the family. Latiya had always been told you could tell the heart of someone by their eyes. Windows to the soul, they were, and the only thing that seemed to bind them as children when all the bad things that weren't supposed to happen did. Eyes were like that, and she perhaps would never be sure why. But how she hated it when he cried. A baby, she thought. A silly little baby who needed to go crawl back to Aunt Heather.

Carnation chose the opportunity to laugh, utter pivot from her actions. "You just made my brother cry!"

Albeser shook his head. "Not crying! Not crying!" His small fists beat against the stone, ringing out echoes.

Latiya sighed, trying an action like Carnation's. Don't let little kids know how much they could get to you. Never let them know. She had never known that when she was little. That hadn't been that long ago, had it? Is that when it stopped, childhood, when you saw things that you were never supposed to see outside a nightmare and a bedtime story? "I did not make him cry!"

"I'm not crying!" The words barely came out through the sobs.

"Not crying, then."

"Tell him the story!" Carnation pleaded. "I know that would make him stop! I just know it!"

"There's nothing to tell, Carnation! There's nothing to tell."

Albeser shook his head wildly. The horse had been long knocked over and rendered motionless save for the occasional magic whinny. "Mama will get mad! Mama will get mad!"

Carnation stood up, marched over to her brother, and yanked him forcefully to his feet. "Mama is a Muggle, and she won't care at all because she doesn't know anything about magic."

That wasn't true, Latiya thought. She had heard about Heather, and she knew plenty of things. Heather was smart. Like Rowena. Which was why Rowena was going to marry Ricky and really be her cousin. The only happy thing that was ever going to happen since that lady had killed Terminus.

At least Albeser had stopped his tears. He sniffed once, the echo of a late sob, and turned those huge brown eyes back on Latiya. "Carnation is right."

"No, she isn't."

"At least tell us who killed him," Carnation said, letting Albeser's arm drop limply to his side. "Because no one ever talks about that."

The months had done nothing to hide that face. The pretty woman with all that hair, that horrible face… she could still see it all, hear it all. Her voice laughing as she screamed what she screamed, those horrible, horrible words. Latiya choked, an entire scream from then still catching in her throat. Only grabbing the wall did she get it out. She didn't know who that lady had been. Someone very bad. She had said she wanted Ricky and Helga and the others to have their school, but that was a lie, she knew that.

"The Fighters," she muttered, barely realizing it was aloud. "Someone from the Fighters did it."

Carnation and Albeser went silent.

Yes, the Fighters. It was the only thing that made sense. The lady had been tricking Terminus against the school. She did not want it. If she had, she wouldn't have killed Terminus.

She couldn't think of anything bad enough to do to them.

* * *

"So it's agreed that the Marser child was a mistake," Rowena declared, slapping a fist down on the table. Oh, she loved how the wood rattled when she did that. Sitting at a table, utterly in charge. Yes, it was incredibly fun.

Helga shook her head. Yet a red face and the giggle that was refusing to be hidden did nothing for her defense. "I wouldn't say that. He was a very sweet boy. Very sweet."

Godric didn't even bother to hide his amusement. He leaned back, laughing his hardest. "Helga, sweetness does not prevent a fool of a boy—no, a man, he's fifteen, by all means—from killing a full-grown deer with a misplaced water spell."

"I still feel bad for the poor deer, of course—"

"But it did taste delicious," Salazar mused.

So he was enjoying himself. Rowena nodded at him from her place. He had been so silent all day. No, for the past week, if not more. She had almost doubted his enthusiasm in this project. It had been nearly impossible to drag him up to the castle—still named Hogwarts in honor of Latiya Weasley and her apparently very vivid imagination—all those months ago. And today… she nicked a nail over the table's surface, still enjoying the scratching sound. Back then it had been understandable. Everyone had felt the same way. She still hurt, in fact, as well as did everyone else, she was certain. Terminus Clearwater, gone. Dead, never coming back in this world or life.

But that hadn't stopped Godric from going through with it. The school. Hogwarts. What everyone was so against. Well, it served a greater satisfaction to the joy of simply creating a school out of revenge. Which of course they weren't. But it could be quite fun, at times, to pretend.

He saw her watching him, and smiled.

That wasn't… she blushed, eyes dropping. This was not appropriate. Already she could hear her mother's voice screaming inside her head about the appropriate actions of a betrothed young woman.

Damn. The word almost went aloud.

The contact did not last long. He ripped it away just as she did, turning once again to Godric. "You realize it was because his of his blood."

A joke. Even Helga groaned. The same old joke that had been thrown about for months.

Godric responded with the appropriate sigh of disgust and infinite patience. "You're saying you don't like him because his grandmother happened to be that old Muggle peasant that threw a rock at you as a child."

"Exactly."

"So you're saying that you refuse to teach children who are not full blood."

"Define, "full blood."'

Helga snorted a laugh through her nose, a painful-sounding explosion that caught on quickly to Rowena. Oh dear, but she had told herself she was not going to laugh. She had told herself that. Too late. "This is just an excuse to get out of teaching, isn't it!" she shrieked, flailing her arm out toward him. "Because then we'll have to get rid of you!"

Godric shook his head, still laughing the hardest. "Then Salazar will no longer be involved in the creation of this school because he himself is not a full blood…"

Salazar jumped from the seat and fell to his knees, another pleading sinner. "No! I beg of you, let me stay!"

Godric turned to her and Helga. "I suppose this will take an agreement, then? Shall he stay?"

"He's your brother, Ricky," Helga said. "You should be generous."

"And I would hate to marry into a broken family," Rowena said. "So…"

"I'm still in." Salazar hopped back into the seat.

However, the incident had brought up an awfully good point. It seemed odd to be in so solemn a room, one they had found hidden among the walls and that she had immediately slapped a password on, and to be joking when that child had indeed been so foolish. "We really need to decide who we're letting in."

"We're letting in everyone, Rowe," Helga said patiently. "This was already discussed."

"But I don't plan on teaching kids like that."

"Anyone that shows skill…" She sighed, plucking a strand of blonde hair from her shoulder. "I would feel so terrible to not let them in, not when the entire concept is that we can teach them things."

Rowena frowned. That was true. "But I want smart ones. Ones that actually understand what's going on. Ones that we can actually teach! It's impossible to teach rock heads!"

"I believe that is a reflection upon a poor teacher," Helga replied with a wink.

She was much too good.

"The smart ones are usually the snotty ones, though," she continued. "Much like Salazar. He should pick next, since he can't choose bloodline at the risk of being evicted himself."

At least he was still in a good mood. Rowena glanced back at him, willing herself not to blush or… anything silly. She was marrying Ricky, and that's all there was to it. In a month's time… she hadn't realize it was coming so close. No wonder at his behavior. And yet if he feared her leaving… why was he so happy and silly now?

He shrugged, impish grin still shining. "The sneaky ones."

"Sneaky ones?" Godric echoed.

Salazar shook his head. "I phrased that wrong. But you know what I mean. The sneaky ones. The ones that can think. Maybe not library readers as Rowena wishes, but…" The grin was fading into a smile, the dreaming one she liked so much; he was going to be serious. "They can think. They are daring. They're willing to look and fight for what they want. I think it would be a great characteristic of a wizard."

Thinking. That hadn't been a reference to her wishes, had it? Rowena turned to Godric. He had yet to throw out an idea. If he could stop laughing himself.

He had. "They'll fight for the school, won't they? That's what we need. Someone who won't fail. Brave."

"People who will work," Helga whispered. "People that will believe in all of this. They'll work for it."

"Exactly."

Something wasn't feeling right. Rowena bit her lip, turning it away. Helga and Ricky had always looked at each other that way. Always. Just because he was now betrothed to her… not that she had ever given her heart to him, anyway. She jumped to her feet, head spinning. "I need air."

Helga stared, then gestured at the window, one overlooking the lake.

"No." She shook her head. "I need…"

_Elope with me._

She froze. That hadn't been…

Salazar. He was the one watching her now. Still smiling. No longer his declaration of a student. No longer that silly smile. Something else.

_Elope with me, _came the command again. His voice in her head.

When could he do that sort of thing? She slunk back into her seat, perfectly aware of how Godric and Helga were watching her.

_You love me, they love each other. Tonight, by the lake._

She found herself nodding.


	20. Moonlight

The night had been warm, for a rare once in that season, with insects already drawing forward, black specks and faint lights in the night that trenched over the warm shores like seasoning, all the while staying distant from the water. The lake was different; wintry cold and pale and too stubborn to give off anything but the clear reflection of the moon. Not quite full, but big enough to cast its all-seeing light over anything near. Salazar preferred to stay away from it; the moon had never been an enemy, nor was it now. Yet secrets were secrets, best left that way and out of the eye of anyone who considering viewing. As long as the moon remained on that lake, the tree-covered shore was safe.

He watched the castle, mind focused on the night air. Very clean, the proper mix of the warmth and the cold, scented with life. It should be calming, he thought dimly. It should be luring him to sleep, making him forget why he was out here in the first place. His heart wouldn't stand for that, thank goodness. No relaxation charm in the world would sit for this. Not till he saw her, not till he knew what she would say.

Salazar liked to imagine he already knew.

She'd come, and he'd wait for her to come till every snatch of apprehension within his body circled itself like rings of fire through his blood and a scream of joy made itself heard. This was new to him, new and wonderful and tempting. The school would remain, it always would. Everything leftover he would give to the school and he knew Rowena would do the same. There was so much that had sprung back to life after months of wishing and hating when the simplest of ideas would come. Ethelinda was already thrilled, more so than he had expected her to be. It wouldn't take much; no one would have to be told. Just a small secret between the four of them.

Beginning with the two of them.

Moonlight filled the mirror, blinding glass like the tricks of the wizards of Egypt. Light bright enough to fill the room, and certainly enough to provide for an attempt at vanity. Helga still wondered and teased at why Rowena had brought up that mirror, when so little else had been moved in the castle, when a simple charm would be enough to reflect a pretty face. That was something Rowena had yet to answer, and what did it matter, anyway? She had her brush and she had her mirror; she might as well join Heather's side of the family and live as a lovely Muggle maiden with all the admirers she could wish for. No, it would be so much more fun to rule the most powerful school in the country as a married woman and…

She set the brush down, a lock of curls less glossy than the others. She wasn't serious about this, was it? It was all a game, one where she would dress up for the part and run down through the woods like a girl in a story. She'd be married soon enough, anyway, within the month. Just a different husband, a different name.

Oh, who was she kidding? The brush flew up and dug itself into her hair. Yes, she was running late. Salazar would just have to wait. She grinned wildly at her reflection, boldly declaring to herself that she had never looked more beautiful. The first and foremost mark of a lady in love.

Godric wouldn't mind a bit, not when he understood. He knew she didn't love him, and he most certainly did not love her. Well, of course she loved him, like a brother. The most wonderful brother she would ever have. And he would love her as a sister, and leave her to her true husband.

Her parents would be furious. Another arrangement, gone to waste. It was simply meant that her family would mix with the Gryffindors, and the world would just have to accept that.

The moon was climbing higher in the trees, spectral white. She laughed at it and waved. The night was no longer terrible. That had been years ago, and she knew enough to prevent any danger. He was out there. Well, she looked beautiful enough. The brush slipped itself into its drawer, and she ran from the room. Four bedrooms, one for each of them. She didn't plan on keeping it that way. The door slammed loudly behind her, declaring her exit. No, announcing to anyone with half a brain that she was a fresh young bride, or would be, before the night was through or however long these sort of things took. Just like her footsteps, loud echoes on the stones. The staircase was before her, the first of a wide room where stairs glowed all over. She laughed again and flicked out a spell. How fun it would be if they could just move to meet her every demand. Already steps were sliding their way toward her.

"Rowena?"

She yelped, foot catching at one of the steps. A lovely way to fall and die, but an arm caught her shoulder. She flipped back, still giggling. "Ricky, you saved my life."

He laughed, turning her towards him. "You seem to be in an awful hurry."

Chatter, nothing else. How many it infuriated that they could not speak like proper betrothed. Just friends. Brother and sister, nothing more. "Of course I am. Haven't you seen the moon?"

"Romance?"

For a moment her heart froze, furious its thoughts had been read. But he was only teasing. No, that wasn't it. Yet he knew nothing, could know nothing… "Ricky, I think it's silly to keep on like that. I only wanted to—"

"Pick those herbs you won't dare leave for the ripening of the full moon," he finished. "I know, I know. You know that lore more than any of us." He released her shoulder.

She felt rather cold, there, now. "Our wedding will be approaching soon." She hated the way his face saddened at that.

"Thank-you so much, Rowena, for bringing that up," he replied, forcing a grin. "All I want to do is look for Salazar and you bring up things like that. You and I both know how we feel about this marriage, so it's silly to keep on it."

He just wanted to know where Salazar was… She laughed and shook her curls. "Well, then I suppose we should both be going our separate ways. There's much to do before we bring our students in."

"So you haven't seen Salazar?"

"I haven't the faintest idea where he might be. Don't you have a spell for that sort of thing?"

"I should."

She waved her fingers at him and continued down the stairs. However, she could no longer run. All she could think of was Godric's face.

Salazar could see her now, a dim shadow barely more solid than the rest strewn over the ground, running fast. Her hair, that was the deepest shadow of all. His heart pounded faster. This could not be real. That skinny little pest she had always been, grown to this?

The plan was fading, a mess of words and ideas that had been so carefully formed, now crumbling into emotions. They could so easily be back before morning. They'd tell Helga and Godric then.

"Your wedding night. How must it feel?"

He whirled around, mind already on the first spell he could bring forth.

It was Tanith. How could he not have heard her approach? Lovely, smaller than he had remember, dressed in a gown much too larger for her and brighter than any green he had ever seen. Brighter than the moon on the lake, almost.

"Tanith," he spat. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, harsh and strange on her pale face, and curtsied. "Why, nothing more than to give my congratulations and best wishes on you and your lover. Ever since I met you I've awaited this day."

"You've awaited my marriage?" His wand lowered, yet his grip did not slacken. More riddles, more treacherous. No, not treacherous this time. Maddening. What weird girl would do such a thing?

"Why not? You're handsome, you're wise. You are about to do one of the greatest things that will ever happen for the magic people." A laugh spilled from her mouth, no longer so strange, and her blonde hair rippled. Much too bright, compared to the moon. "I'm a romantic, Salazar. I rejoice in love."

What would this look like, when Rowena finally arrived? Him, and this odd little girl? "If you're so excited about this, then why don't you leave?"

"Tut, tut." She shook her head, face mockery of the solemn. "Oh, I'll leave. You don't need to worry about that. Of course I had always imagined another girl in your place. I've been rather enamored of you since I first saw you. I'm only for that and because I'm a messenger."

This Tanith was a lunatic. "More riddles?"

"Riddles, riddles, always with the riddles. Salazar, I tire of them just as much as you do. I only give my blessing." She stepped forward, place both hands on his shoulders, and pressed her lips against his cheek. The kiss seemed to burn. "This may not be me you're in love with, but I've yet to give you such reason, and time will do as it wills."

She stepped back, and Salazar brushed at his cheek. Even so he could still feel it, as if her lips remained there. Why was she so familiar? "Leave, Tanith. She can't see you here."

That earned a laugh. "I'll leave, I promise! I'm not so horrible as to stand in the way of love! Though I'm flattered at your worries. I'm leaving now, in fact. Just as soon as I give you your gift. Cup your hands."

There was no other reason to disobey. One more laugh, and she dropped something against his palms, something warm and alive.

A snake, a hatchling.

"A snake," he said.

She shook her head. "No, though I understand your confusion. It's a basilisk. One of mine. I kept the egg and watched it hatch."

"A basilisk," Salazar echoed. For a moment it seemed he could only feel the cold from the lake. He had heard of these things, rare monsters that could turn a body to stone by a simple look. "You raise these?"

"Not many, I'm not quite so fortunate. It's something my people do. Please, promise me you'll take good care of him."

He should probably drop the thing and grind his heel into its fragile little body. That's what Rowe would tell him to do. And yet… how often did one meet a basilisk? One so young, especially. He stared at it, its eyes glinting up in perfect innocence and tongue flickering like candlelight.

"It has no power yet," Tanith explained, one of her fingers gently stroking the back. Give it a year, at least, if you expect stone. Though I can't imagine how that could come in use to you."

He nodded, still entranced. "That would require locking it up somewhere safe."  
"Precisely. Though if you really wanted you could cut out the dear things eyes. But I'd hate you forever."

He met her eyes, shaking his head. "No, no, I'd never do that."

"Good." Her eyes swept past him, into the trees, and she giggled. "Now I really must leave. She's coming. Again, best of luck." Tanith turned and fled into the trees. For several moments they rustled after her, then were still.

He hadn't thanked her for the basilisk… No, he mustn't think of that. She was a strange girl, kind, yes, but he shouldn't think of her. Not with Rowe. Speaking of Rowe…

She was close now. He could see each perfect facet of her face, almost hear her breath, the way her dress moved about her. His heart started again, back to her. It had forgotten something in Tanith's presence. "Rowe!"

She didn't respond, only slid into the patch of earth where he stood and threw her arms around his neck.

He responded, pressing her in tight. "You took forever."

"Salazar, I…"

He released her, hand sliding down her arm to her fingers. "We need to go, now. We can pretend to be Muggles, find one of their priests of whichever deity they wish to throw at us and be back by morning. It won't be any fault of Helga or Godric, and what will be done will be done and—"

"Salazar!" She yanked her hand away.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He turned to her, breath catching. "What is it?"

She didn't speak for a long time, her breath louder than his, another noise to echo off the lake. "It's so cold here," she murmured. "The water never holds the cold like this. It's strange."

"You came here to tell me that?"

"No!" She shook her head. He hadn't realize how pale her face had become. "Salazar, I can't do this. I can't marry you—"

"But you came-"

"—Now," she finished. "I can't marry you now."

A bat flung itself from a nearby tree like a crack in the night. "Rowe." There was more he should say. More he wanted to say. Yell. Shout.

"Oh, Salazar." She flung herself against his chest. "This isn't right. This isn't even normal. You decide this all a few short hours ago and expect me to just follow along."

"I thought you might find it fun."

She pushed herself away. "I do find it fun! Don't you understand? It's exciting, it's maddening, it's everything I've wanted. You're everything I've wanted. I've loved you since I was a child, Salazar! But I am no longer a child, neither are you, and it's time to let such ideas go."

This was a nightmare. One hellish nightmare he was going to wake up from. "If you love me, it won't matter. Get into trouble! You've always done that."

She shook her head, sniffing.

A horrible realization fell over him. "You can't... Godric?"

She nodded, gaze dropping to the ground.

"You don't love Godric?"

Rowe reached up to pluck a leaf from the tree, and crumpled it between her fingers. "I love you more than anything. But I can't do this to him."

His question had not been answered.

"He'll never have Helga," she continued. "He loves her, she loves him, but they can never be together. I'm what he can have. At least until things change. Yes, Salazar, I will be your wife. Someday. But not now."

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. A frozen breeze leapt from the lake and stabbed into him. "Why not now?"

"We have the school to worry about. The school was important to Terminus; we should continue that. Please, Salazar. I love you." Then she stretched out her left hand to him. "I will be with you."

He couldn't say no to her. Not since that night when he had found her, captive and sick. This was like that night, and he couldn't rescue her now. He squeezed his fingers together, feeling the magic take shape. A simple charm, really. Nothing more than a quaint illusion. She had taught it to him, once, when they were small. Twist the magic, make it hard and bend the light. Finally it lay in his palm, hard and cool. A ring, silvery grey. He slid it onto her finger.

She smiled, examining it. "Well, then. Till later."

It could not end like this.

It didn't. She made do with one more kiss.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rather embarrassing to watch, Helga thought wickedly. A rare state of mind for her, she was the first to admit. Though one couldn't be as sweet as they imagined her all the time. And after she had overhead Rowena and Godric talking in the hall, well, she had to do something. Perhaps it was only feminine curiosity that had pulled her out here. Some things demanded attention, and this was one of them. One hope that could have existed, killed right before her eyes.

Real badgers doubtfully felt much.

She had known this for months. Years. Rowena loved Salazar, not Godric. Ricky was Helga's, and hers alone.

She laughed to herself, not willing to risk the badger's vocal chords. It was perhaps the most romantic story she had ever heard. That Tanith girl, refused flatly by Salazar. He had no concept of what a woman said, truly said. It had served him well, in this case. Rowena needn't know about that little escapade.

Helga felt childish now, a playing girl in a made-up world. Rowena and Salazar approved—they suspected how she felt for Godric. Had they eloped-- how she wished they had!—it would have been perfect. She could have pretended to have known nothing, all would have been well. A marriage set could not be torn down by the outside. Godric could have gone to her father and… Certainly he would have approved. The Gryffindors, though Muggle, were a very powerful family.

She wouldn't see her father tonight, though. Even if that was so, she'd never bother to ask his opinion on such an arrangement. The badger form slid away, and she pictured her room back in the valley. It would be quite useful to learn to Apparate as an animal.

Her bare feet sunk into the carpet, freshly beaten by Naira. It was a silly trip to make, Helga observed. But she had left books her, things so necessary for the school. She ran to her trunk, something old her mother had left her, and flung it open. Old books, the one she had been thinking of, special gifts…

"Helga."

She froze, hands on the trunk's lid.

"Helga, turn and face me."

She did, smiling her best. "Father. I didn't wish to wake you."

He was not in his night things, but in the finer clothes he owned. He returned the smile, a darker version. "I wouldn't have expected such behavior from you, Helga."

"Opening a trunk? Father, I didn't mean to sneak in—"

"Silence!" He stepped closer, foot falling heavily against the carpet. "You always were a foolish one. I heard what you did, what you encouraged."

Her mouth dropped. He couldn't have… "What are you talking about?"

The question only served his anger. "There are messengers everywhere. I'm not trapped here in this valley, I can know many things. I know where you were tonight, not just at your precious school. Helga, you will not encourage this. You would be blamed, if the marriage between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor failed! I will not stand for that!"

He raised his hand. Instinctively she cowered, almost now sitting on the trunk. Was he really so powerful a wizard?

She was more so…

It wasn't something she had to think about. She knew her smells, simple ones in practice, powerful in effect. Nothing had to harm him.

Her father flew back against the wall, unconscious.

She watched him for a moment, amazed at herself. He wasn't dead, of course. But he'd be so furious when he knew.

But that didn't matter.

She gathered what she had come for and left.


	21. PreWedding

"Hold on, just a little more…" Helga's hand swept back from Latiya's hair, which was freshly curled and littered with roses. "There! Darling, you look just beautiful! Now those roses had best stay because I refuse to cast anymore sticking charms in that hair of yours; I'm not quite sure just what sort of an effect any more magic would have on you."

Latiya smiled and gently touched one of the bulbous roses. She looked to grown-up. Just like Mama and Helga. Well, if she had to be a grown-up now, she might as well look the part. And when Helga volunteered to yank her hair up in curls and roses in a fashion that no self-respecting child would wear, Latiya took it. "Thank-you!"

"Focus on the mirror." Helga turned the stool on which Latiya sat to fully face the patterned mirror. "Oh, but your mother is going to be furious with me when she sees you."

"Marigold is with Rose right now," Rowena called from somewhere out in the hall. "Bringing up flowers. Or something. You can still hide the girl."

"Thank-you!" Helga called back, and she gently scooted Latiya from the chair. "Well, I'm certain she won't make a huge fuss at the ceremony, so just stay out of our way until then. If you see your mother, hide. You know how to hide, right?"

"I'm the second best at hide-and-seek," Latiya replied defensively.

Helga laughed. "Good. Now go."

"But I want to watch Rowena get ready for the wedding!" Latiya hated the words the moment they were out of her mouth. The look that fell over Helga's face… she looked so sad. Latiya had rarely seen her look so sad. It should be Helga getting ready now, being forced into a wedding dress with her hair all tied and prepared for a few hours of glamour and glitter. Latiya knew exactly how Helga felt about Godric Gryffindor.

Helga's fingers froze at the stool, her own hair about to slip from its precarious bun. Yet she did nothing, not even the quickest of motions to stop it. Then her frown flipped itself into a smile more suited for a tapestry, and she flicked back the loose strand of hair. "Latiya, your mother is going to probably be helping with Rowena. You don't want your mother to see you looking like that until later."

Why did the mothers and the other adult women always have to be the ones helping with the wedding? Latiya made a face.

"At least she's still wearing a child's dress," Rowena said with a true humor, striding into the room, hair dripping wet and nothing but a cloak wrapped around her body. "I could just imagine you looking for all the world like one of those—"

Helga clapped a hand over Rowena's mouth. "I think you're forgetting yourself, Rowe dear. Just because you have subscribed to such behavior—"

"I have not!" Rowena cried, pushing the hand away. "Just because I've kissed a few more young wizards than you have—"

"I don't think you should be professing that kind of knowledge of my personal life," Helga said wickedly.

"That, I do not want to know. Now where is this sickening array of servitude I'm supposed to wear?" Rowena slipped off her robe. "I believe Heather was getting it…"

Well, now she had completely sunk into the wrong side of ignorance. With an exasperated sigh that once again failed to receive the attention she had expected, Latiya slunk unseen from the room. Maybe she could find Carnation or one of the other girls and how off her new hair style and the make-up Helga had dabbled on her face.

Unfortunately the wedding was being held in Hogwarts, and Hogwarts was a place that Latiya still had yet to discover. It had been Helga to suggest it. A celebration to fully start the school. Latiya was already having plenty of fun at Hogwarts—she didn't need a wedding. Especially when Ricky and Helga were not to be married. It just wasn't fair, for anyone. Maybe she'd manage to get lost in the twisting halls of the school and miss the wedding completely. But then she wouldn't be able to show off her new hair and her mother wouldn't get furious and her father wouldn't laugh and… oh, the wedding would be too much fun to miss. So she wouldn't get lost. Besides, already a few portraits had been enchanted for proper use—the nice ones would surely point her way back.

She turned a corner, barely looking at where it led. She wasn't sure where she was heading right now, anyway. "All sing you one, ho," she sang. "Green oh the rushes grow…." An old song that Heather had taught her. Heather was so nice that way.

"A wee little girl singing about boring rushes?"

Latiya froze. In front of her popped a small, bright figure with a laughing face. A man. Only… it wasn't a ghost, was it?  
"Hello," she said dimly.

The man wriggled his nose at her. "Ah, so she can so something besides sing. Though I like that song. I, Peeves, am the most marvelous singer in the world. At least in this dirty old place that people think would be fun to make a school out of. Bleh." He blew a raspberry. "Schools are for fools."

That was true. Helga was the only fun teacher. "I'm Latiya."

"Latiya, then. Hello, Latiya. Latiya Latiya Latiya Latiya. You have a very hard name to say. So I shall call you Ya-ya."

Without thinking Latiya laughed. That was what her father had called her when she was very small. She liked this Peeves.

"Ah, so the missy can laugh!" Peeves stood up, still balance oddly in the air a good two feet above the stone floor, and bowed. Then he began to sing, horribly loud and even more horribly off-key. "All sing you fifteen oh, red burn the rushes on fire!"

Latiya laughed again. "That's not how it goes! It doesn't go that high, the song only goes to twelve!"

"So Ya-ya doesn't like red rushes," Peeves replied, ending his song. "So I take it you don't like red roses, either." With that, he sprang forward and yanked one of the roses from her hair.

Instantly she grabbed at the rose, as he held it tauntingly before her. "Give it back, that's mine!"

"It's mine, now!" Peeves cried. And he flew off down the hall, rose in hand.

And after all that work Helga had spent on her hair. "Give it back!" She ran after Peeves, her shoes beating endlessly against the stone floor. She wasn't sure where he had turned, but the next corner was hers, and she was once again running. More corners, more turns….

She must have been running for ten minutes before she realized that Peeves was no where in sight, and she was hopelessly lost.

"Wonderful," she muttered. Whatever that Peeves person was, she was going to tell Ricky and Helga and the others. She turned another corner, then another. This wasn't helping. Maybe she'd have to find a portrait. She did not want to miss the wedding. Sometimes portraits were kept in classrooms. There. A door. Without thinking she pushed it open.

It was empty. Mostly empty, at least. A few scrolls, probably brought in by Rowena or Salazar, were dumped in a table. The room must have been cleaned recently, but already fresh dust was taking its place. A few chairs had been arranged for a small class, but otherwise the room seemed forgotten.

Scrolls, she thought. Scrolls were sometimes fun to read. Especially if it concerned an upcoming lesson…

But as she approached the scrolls, one wriggled on its own, then flew up into the air.

Latiya almost screamed. But it had to be just another spell. One she didn't know yet.

The scroll unfolded itself. It was blank, at first, but as if an invisible pen hung before it with a just as invisible hand, words scrawled themselves over the parchment. Latiya stepped forward, curious. This was not normal. Therefore these words had to be important.

She barely noticed the footsteps behind her.

"Latiya," came the voice of Salazar. Relief, irritation—she didn't care. "Here you are, on the other side of the school, and we're not even finished over here. We've all been looking for you, your mother wants to fix your hair up, and…" His voice trailed off as he, too, read the scroll.

_He shouldn't be reading it_, Latiya thought dimly. _It didn't concern him._

No, it wasn't her thoughts. It was like a voice speaking to her.

_Yes!_ Came another. _He needs to read them! It's only how we can stop this! If he knows…_

_Maybe he should just be killed… before anything happens._

_If anything hasn't happened yet…._

_Are you suggesting.?_

_He cares for the Ravenclaw girl. How close are they?_

_She's to be married…. She must still be a virgin…_

These weren't her own thoughts! This wasn't right! Furiously Latiya shook her head. Oh, but she hated those voices. She wasn't supposed to listen to voices that were not hers. It was bad. Very bad. She focused her attention on the scroll.

"What is that?" Salazar whispered.

Latiya couldn't read very fast…

"Accio!" Salazar shouted. The scroll zoomed over Latiya's head into his outstretched hand.

Latiya turned. "I was reading that!"

Salazar's face was very strange. He looked… sick. His face was pale, his eyes red and unfocused.

"Sal?" Latiya asked in a tiny voice. What was it with everyone today? It was just a wedding.

Finally Salazar took notice of her. "Latiya," he said. "Turn right outside the door and go down to the very end of the hallway, and turn again. You should recognize the school from there." He may as well have been speaking to someone not there; he wouldn't even look at her.

Latiya nodded. "Salazar, are you all right? You're coming, aren't you?"

He didn't reply. Slowly, Latiya slid out the door. Just then something struck against her sleeve. Another scroll. It must have… flown out like the other.

That was a very strange room. She'd have to talk to Helga about it.

* * *

An hour of preparation and he still looked atrocious. Doubtfully anyone would create a spell useful for anything in the area of grooming. Pre-wedding jitters, Godric had thought. Not that any self-respecting man would have jitters. So that couldn't be it. What was about to happen was simply another example of the daily repetition of marriage; sooner or later most souls came to terms with such, whether romance or otherwise brought it forth. None of this was his fault—why should any marriage be at fault? It was Caspian's fault, he and his rampant marriage of Heather. So now on a lark all had decided that the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw families be inseparably connected.

When did wizarding folk hold such thoughts in esteem?

Godric made a small tear in the edge of his sleeve. His mind gave no reason for the action, but the tear gave the small comfort that he had control over some things in this world. He had thought it for months: there had to be more to his marriage with Rowena than family ties.

Was he complaining? It wasn't that he didn't care for Rowena. She was intelligent, beautiful, talented… all the things Salazar saw in the girl. So why wasn't Salazar marrying her? He was not a Gryffindor. Of all of destiny's foolish reasons.

Godric loved Helga. He had since they were children. He was supposed to marry Helga. Of that he was certain.

And Salazar would rush in and carry Rowena away without another word being said.

Had Jonas and Terminus arranged for these awful romances?

And speak of the devil… footsteps halted at the doorway; Godric didn't bother to turn.

"Almost ready?" Jonas asked.

Perhaps there was still room for joking. "Almost ready for what?"

Jonas laughed, and the fine-toothed comb near Godric's hand gave a small jiggle and jumped at his unruly brown hair. "I'm sure you know of what I mean."

"Oh, yes. I'm supposed to get married today."

"I sense a bit of digression in your voice?" Jonas continued into the room, almost as if he had not been invited and only wished to intrude at the slightest.

Now was as good a time as ever. Right before the wedding. "Why must I marry Rowena?" He saw Jonas' face in the mirror now, questioning and suddenly somehow ageless.

"You don't like Rowena?"

"Rowena is very dear to me! But I do not love her!"

A flippant shrug. "Love can come in its due time."

Godric twisted away from the mirror, hating the anger that was already boiling inside of him. "I am in love with Helga Hufflepuff. That love has already come. I do not like this duty that requires me to be with Rowena."

"But it was decided in the best interests of the families…."

"Did Caspian and Heather not make the bond between the families strong enough?" Godric snapped. "My family despises our kind, while Heather is a Muggle. My family was nothing but ecstatic when Caspian married her. They're not pleased that I'm marrying a witch."

Jonas dared to laugh. "Helga is also a witch."

The expected reply, of course. Godric had walked right into that one. His fist struck out uncontrolled, freezing just before striking the wall. "I'm perfectly aware of that. You call us the more powerful wizards and witches in this area. One of the reasons you demand this school. Is there some prophecy, or something one of your seers as foretold, that requires me to marry Rowena for the sake of this school?"

"…no."

"Which of us is fated to destroy this school?"

"We don't speak of that."

The comb had made another attempt at his hair. Godric shoved it away, clattering to the floor. "You hide as a Squib for years. You never married, Jonas. What would you know of all this? If it's not for the sake of the school, then why?" Helga was in his mind. Clear eyes, laughing smile. He could see her as if she were in front of him. "I'm sure the school will carry on fine if I did not marry Rowena. We have students even now. More wish to attend. If I hear one more word demanding I take a child to preserve the magic ways I will scream."

For a long time Jonas said nothing. Godric hated the way he stared.

A knock sounded outside the door, and Rose's face peered in, bright aglow. His mother, all excited for a wedding she had arranged. She didn't seem to notice any problems. "Are you almost ready, dear?"

Godric found himself nodding. Ready as he would ever be.

"Good. Rowena is far from ready, though." Rose vanished down the hallway.

Godric took a deep breath, something to still his anger. This was silly. He'd still see Helga again. There would be ways… but he'd be the husband of another woman. "I'm sorry, Jonas, I shouldn't have accused you… I suppose I was searching for an excuse."

More silence.

He shuffled his feet, scuffing the boots. "I suppose I should…"

"It's for Helga's sake." The words flew from Jonas' mouth like a storm.

Godric paused. "What?"

"Your mother… it's something she saw." Jonas closed his eyes, and his voice became regretful. "We didn't think you'd ever have to know, but even Rose pointed out that you cared for Helga. But to save Helga's life we have to do whatever we can to throw off that line of fate."

"But that hardly ever works," Godric whispered. An old adage from a former lesson. "What did my mother see?"

"Helga was dying. Stabbed. Drowned. We don't know what fate will cause that to happen. Today's marriage may in fact help bring it about. But we don't think it will. We can only stop whatever we can from happening."

Godric fell back against the wall.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Jonas said softly. "But you did ask. Congratulations be yours for the marriage."

He slowly left the room.

* * *

Salazar watched as the scroll burned. Delicate flames licking their ways down the parchment. Fire was so excellent at destruction—was that why the witch-hunters had so favored it? If only he could apply that same fire to his mind.

The parchment fell to ashes, whatever enchantment placed it apparently gone as the ashes rolled outwards through the hall. He kicked at them, then turned, no longer caring where he was going.

No more riddling prophecies this time. No more mysteries that could be interpreted either way. Clear words, directed at him.

Why hadn't he known before?

Throughout the castle came the echoes of voices, ricocheting like light from the walls. Laughter, chatter, the children fighting over something. There was to be a wedding today… a wedding he was against. His mind refused to care, just fled to his feet to send them marching wherever the halls led. He flung magic as he went, trickster spells that the students might find amusing come lesson time. He didn't care. The spells flew to his fingertips, to his wand, and out into the walls. Twisting halls, moving halls, steps… Rowena had already damaged the staircases enough…

Rowena… he stopped. Rowena was to be married today. And he was supposed to…

_Salazar._

Rowena. He turned. She had to be close; that spell didn't go far.

"Rowe?" he called.

"Salazar?" She stepped around the corner.

It was all he could do to keep his heart inside. This couldn't be his Rowe, wrapped in blue silk, her hair tied with white daisies. The neckline… lower than anything he had seen her wear. He forced a smile. "You look lovely."

She nodded, blushing. "For… the wedding. Unless you…" She didn't continue.

He knew exactly what she was talking about. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You're a beautiful bride."

"For…"

"Godric." He hated to say it.

Her eyes widened, almost anticipating a scream. "But I thought we'd leave now!"

The scroll, unburned, flashed in his thoughts. "I thought you were determined to marry Godric."

"I changed my mind. It's you I love."

That wasn't something he doubted. More than anything at that moment Salazar wanted to just grab her and leave Hogwarts forever. All problems would be solved then. But he couldn't marry her. Never.

"My ring," Rowe begged, revealing her hand. The misty rang came into view. "I still have it; it still means that you will be my husband!"

He took her hand and squeezed it. Then he pulled off the ring and flew it across the floor. It rolled, loud as thunder, than vanished into mist.

"Salazar!" It truly was a scream this time. "Salazar, how dare you leave me!"

"You would never understand," he said, turning around. "You have to marry Godric."

"Salazar!" she screamed again.

He didn't listen. He was too far down the hall, cursing what he had seen. Riddles gone, only truth and logic. Or maybe he had finally learned to make sense of riddles.

_"The seed of darkness will come through the union of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Generations will pass, but the child of darkness will come through Slytherin."_

A door appeared, etching itself into the wall. Salazar didn't know if he was making it. But it opened. He could see the endless stretch of trees beyond it.

He ran.


	22. One Year Later

_"And I'll walk away stronger..."_

_–_Martina McBride_, From the Ashes_

* * *

It was almost three o'clock. Precisely four minutes until the hour, if anyone cared to be exact. The time of night when all sane reality had launched itself into proper rest and peace finally existed despite the occasional illicit affair being carried on in a barn or a staircase or even a spare yet adorned room, for the more adventurous service. Not that a romp down by the creek was frowned upon either, if a couple felt spectacularly wild and a raft might be found. 

That's when the smell came up, the smell of water at night. Night Water. Sharp and strong to the same effect as strong wine. Mist rose up from the water and slid through the veins like life-giving poison with a bouquet of mud and decay and moss and things growing. The night animals were around, perking at the scent before carrying out their own plans, usually hunting, perhaps something else.

The smell always woke Rowena up at this time, four minutes to the hour of three. The mist came through her window and gently into her nostrils and stirred her. Never roughly, always kindly, shaking away the binds of sleep before her heart started pounding. It hadn't been going on very long, only for several months.

She opened her eyes, catching the cracks in the stone ceiling. A waxy stub of candle was still burning, a mere candle ignored by magic that had still managed its own survival. Impressive. There had been several more several hours ago, but they apparently had died out. She yawned once and stretched out of Godric's embrace. She smiled and pushed his arm away. He muttered something in his sleep and rolled the other way. He was awfully cute that way. She pressed her lips over his for a moment, then climbed from the bed.

It was cool. Not quite cold, but summer was nearing its end and some nights were prone to a chilling breeze from the creek. The mist brought it. She pulled a blanket from the bed, one not hogged by Godric, and pulled it around her shivering and naked body. Then she made her way to the window.

The creek had vanished under a veritable cloud, sickeningly beautiful. It hurt Rowena to look at it. In the daylight, the creek that ran over the Gryffindor land was nothing more than that creek. Pretty, and the younger children liked to play there. Apparently the Hogwarts lake wasn't good enough for Carnation or Albesar. But Ricky liked it, and so did she, and when they had a child he or she would probably also like the creek and attempt to drown in it, as children were prone to attempt. But now, in the night, it was something else altogether. Rowena couldn't quite put her finger on what it exactly was. It just... was.

She leaned over the sill, listening and breathing in that mist. It tasted wet on her tongue. Wonderfully wet.

And it told her to get down there. Now this was something rare. This only happened once a week or so. No time to get dressed, just carry the blanket with her and pray that no one in the castle caught her as she fled down. Apparating just didn't seem right with this.

Glancing once more at her sleeping husband, she fled from the room.

The outdoors were even colder, and temperatures dropping as she approached the creek. Her feet were bare, and bits of grass and dirt stuck to the dew and then to her feet. The blanket would be filthy in the morning. Of course, she could always tell Ricky they had more fun than he had thought. The ground squished more and more as she approached the creek. Everything was so wet.

It was like walking through a cloud. She stopped, feet almost in the water and sinking into the mud, and listened. An owl somewhere. A bullfrog. Something leaped into the water, probably the frog. A fox passed through the trees, eyes alive. A badger, a squirrel.

And something else.

She closed her eyes in an effort to give more to her ears, then reopened them in case whatever she was searching for had to be seen. But she couldn't see anything through the cloud.

Her heart pounded to deafening.

"Salazar?" she whispered.

Something moved in the trees. Not the fox.

"Salazar!" she shouted. "Salazar!"

But it was no use. He hadn't been seen in over a year, not since the wedding.

But he was here. She knew it. She could feel it. Salazar had been here.

Or maybe she was crazy. She took a deep breath and let it fight the nausea she felt. The vomit would stay down. She couldn't get sick over this, not now. She was being ridiculous. She was married. She had a husband she loved. She had Helga. She had the students.

Rowena turned to go, but something slithered over her feet.

A snake. A tiny snake. She picked it up. It stared at her, red eyes blinking. It was dizzying.

"Hello," she said in near baby-talk. "What are you? Who are you?"

It tilted its head quizzically. It seemed... disappointed.

She frowned. "You belong to Salazar, don't you?"

This thing didn't like her. Didn't hate her, but didn't like her. It wasn't trying to...

She hated the thing. Perhaps it should die. This little thing should come to her instead of Salazar. This is dreadful little piece of scum. She clenched her hands, almost squeezing the thing. But it was too big for that.

Well, she knew just where to put it.

She headed back to the castle.

* * *

Carnation splashed her bare foot again into the river, laughing as the icy water splashed all around her as a tidal wave. "Love it! Aunty Marigold, see?" 

"Lots of water, Carnation," Marigold said dryly. "I see, I see." She remained on the bank, holding the book and writing down notes of whatever Helga dictated or whatever occurred to her.

"It's great water," Carnation insisted. "Magic water. Magic and mist and water everywhere!" Carnation gave the laugh only children could give.

"If only she were capable of learning something," Marigold muttered as Helga made her way back on shore and shook away the badger form.

"Of course she'll learn," Helga said, brushing the obligatory water from her hair. "Carnation is a very talented young witch, aren't you dear?"

Carnation was in the process of making up her own song about a wizard and a hypogriff and a word that she obviously had heard from one of the men. It was night, and Helga was in too good a mood for any chastising. The night was thick and she could feel it. She wanted to run straight into all of it and gather it up for a lesson tomorrow. Since Carnation clearly had no intention of paying any mind. And after so long of demanding to be taken out on a night lesson with Latiya.

Latiya, speaking of whom, was concentrated on gathering herbs. Herbs for Hogwarts, with a purposeful mispronunciation of herbs for the sake of alliteration. That was Latiya's thing as of late. When she was being cute. Which was most of the time.

Not like three weeks ago.

It wasn't something Helga liked to think about. It had been in her class. Learning, learning, a few misfired spells but nothing too serious. And then, out of the blue, Latiya's question if it would be all right to "beat up" those who didn't want the school to stand.

No, Helga didn't like to think about it at all. It should have been innocent, but it wasn't. It wasn't innocent in the least.

Or maybe she was just going crazy. She pulled out a flask and dipped it into the water. She held it up to the moonlight, then dumped it out.

She had seen Rowena five minutes ago. And Rowena had clearly been with someone.

And who else but her husband?

Helga sniffed the tears back. "Latiya, Carnation, freeze the fog."

Latiya lifted her wand, and the fog began to fall in pieces to shatter on the water. Pound after pound of glassy mist or misty glass– did it matter anymore? It was raining mirrors that cut into everything and somehow Helga loved every moment of it.

This was how they found her father six months ago.

* * *

Sometimes Helga scared Marigold. The past year since Godric's wedding... it had been so normal. Except for Salazar's disappearance. But even that had slid into unspoken legend. Never to be discussed, only to be accepted, only to remain in the hearts of everyone in hopes he would come back. Rowena had gone and married Godric, they and Helga ran their school, and that was that. 

But something had happened to Helga. Nothing drastic. No severity had found its way into her even after her father's death six months ago.

It was something in her eyes. Marigold had always prided herself on looking at the eyes. It was now she knew if her husband was keeping a secret. It's how she knew if her children were lying.

Jonas had once called it her gift.

The strength and the iron had entered Helga's eyes. A little something extra, something fierce, the kind of natural ferocity that existed so perfectly with the angel Helga was. Marigold rarely had time to ponder it, though. It just... was. The way she stood, the way she moved, the way she spoke. The briefest, barest nuance, the lilt of something else. Strength.

Marigold put down her quill and stared into the darkness, half-listening to her daughter practice her spells. Yet she could barely think as the figure approached.

"Marigold?" It was a man, small, harmless-looking. No one she recognized. "Marigold Weasley?"

She glanced at Helga. "Yes." Who the hell was out at this time of night?

"I have a message for you." He fumbled in his robes, found a bit of parchment, and pressed it into the bewildered Marigold's hand.

And then he gave a scream and fell to the floor. Bleeding.

Marigold screamed herself and leaped to her feet.

Behind her were Helga and the girls, all staring. Latiya was softly crying.

"Mama," she murmured, running into Marigold's arms.


	23. Defiance

_"The hard part is choosing to change what needs changed..."_

–Martina McBride, _From the Ashes_

----------------------------------------------------

The bleeding wouldn't stop. It ran down the man's face, his arms, melting into the soaking grass. Latiya tried not to look at it, to bury her face further into her mother's chest, but she couldn't help it. Even with her eyes shut she could see the blood.

"For goodness' sake," Helga muttered from behind her. And then there was the sound of feet over swampy grass. "He's still alive."

"What caused it?" Latiya's mother asked.

Latiya squeezed her eyes shut.

"A glass spell," came the reply. "I'm sure of it. It can be easily cast at a distance, but only a short distance..." Helga's voice trailed off. "Marigold, Carnation, do you see anyone in the trees?"

"That vixen of ten minute's ago." That came with the laugh that adults liked to do all the time. Latiya had never understood that laugh, but when it came from her mother it made her feel somewhat better.

"Not funny, Marigold. I've done what I can, the bleeding is slowing. Do you have any idea who he is?"

Latiya opened one eye. Helga was bent over the man, her wand aglow. Latiya had always envied Helga's wand. Quaking aspen, with a center from the feather of a pegasus.

"No idea."

"Blood is icky," Carnation whimpered. "Helga, make it go away."

"I am, dearest, I am. He'll be fine, so don't you worry your pretty little head. Let's see..." Helga stood up. "Eh, I'll just make a stretcher. I would like a real Healer to take a look at him." She gave another flick of the wand. The mist congregated together into a perfectly solid stretcher. "Marigold, what does the letter say."

Latiya had almost forgotten about her mother's letter.

"Here, darling, Mother needs to see the note." She pulled Latiya aside with one arm. "'Lady Marigold, we humbly request you do not let anyone see this.' Well, too late for that. 'We admire you, and believe that all others will listen to you. Your family is intimately connected with the school called Hogwarts. You can make them understand the necessity of closing the school. Prophecy states in many generations a great evil will arise because of this school that will harm all worlds, both Magical and Muggle. We are frank, Lady, and believe you can influence and persuade the teachers to close. We wish to be kind, although one of the teachers has already murdered someone important to us.' Oh my."

Latiya uttered a gasp, almost as loud as the scream from Carnation.

"'We will not exact revenge, but we know who this person is. We yet believe they still possess the wisdom to end the school. Please, do all that is in your power to close the school. If you don't, there are those will take greater action. Sincerely, a Friend.' Well, if that isn't just a pack of lies!" Latiya's mother crumpled the parchment into a ball and flung it at her feet, where it immediately absorbed the dampness of the air and grass. "I... I will do no such thing! How dare they write me such a thing. A friend! And all their niceties. It makes me absolutely ill!"

"School! School!" Carnation chanted, now caught up in the passion of Latiya's mother.

Latiya felt a smile forming on her own lips. Of course the school would never be shut down! Not with Helga and Ricky and Rowena! "You would never let that happen, would you, Helga?"

Helga was staring up at the sky, arms folded over her chest. She looked angry, very angry. And Latiya didn't blame her. "Latiya, you know me well enough that I would never allow such a thing. Ever. Would you ever allow Hogwarts to be closed?"

Latiya shook her head. Never. She would never allow that.

Now her mother was grinding up the parchment under her slipper, mouth pulled back in a triumphant smile. "How dare they assume I have so much power. Using me to get to the rest of you. I probably should show this to Ricky, but I don't really want to. All these speeches about prophecies. Bah!"

"Jonas said to ignore them," Helga said. "Jonas has assured us all that everyone will be all right. No matter what evil comes, everything will be all right. And I trust him. But we should show that letter to Godric, he must be warned. We don't be frightened by these silly things. The glass spell, I'm sure they did it themselves, to frighten us."

No. The school would protect itself. "Or someone on our side!" Latiya said happily.

She liked the way Helga smiled at her. Helga was so wonderful. She bent back over the body. "I believe he has improved much."

Latiya wanted to be Healer. It was one of her many dreams. "I want to see him!" Much braver, she scampered over. The blood had stopped completely now, leaving only a few red scratches on his skin. His eyelashes fluttered slightly, from time to time. And his cloak... His cloak had fallen off. Nice and black and soft. A very thin material, but strong. Latiya picked it up. "Ooh!" She put it over her shoulders. Much too big for her, of course, but that was half the fun. It was her cape to protect Hogwarts. Clenching it over her neck, she began to run in circles. "Look at me! I'm a guardian of Hogwarts!" The black cloak whistled after her as it fluttered in the wind.

Her mother gave another giggle, meant for her. "Yes, you certainly are. Now put the cloak down."

"Marigold," Helga said after a pause. "Take the girls back up to the castle, fix them some hot to drink and get them some cookies. Class is over, we have enough supplies."

"Because of me!" Carnation shouted.

Another smile. "Yes, dear, because of you. You have done very well, you will be one of the best witches around!"

Carnation beamed and walked to her aunt's arms. "Aunty Marigold, I want a cookie!"

"Of course you do, though I'm sure your mother will wring my neck for such behavior. But I'll talk to my brother and get you anything you want. Come along, Latiya!"

Latiya skipped through the trees and the dying mist, heart still thumping in her ribs. Fighting! Not like the Fighters! It was the Fighters who wanted the school closed. It was confusing, how many people wanted to protect the Magical world in so many different ways. How did anyone ever keep track of it all?

She realized that Helga wasn't following. She stopped. Her mother and Carnation continued on ahead, Carnation blabbering whatever silly little girls liked to talk about. She'd be right there. She would just walk back up with Helga. That would be all right.

She turned around.

There was Helga, bent over the figure now lying prone in the misty stretcher. The moonlight found its way directly to them, almost a spotlight making the world see them. Helga never looked more beautiful, Latiya thought. She wished she could be that pretty. Helga was so wonderful.

Helga circled the stretcher, humming a little song under her breath. Then she pulled her wand back out.

Did the man need more healing?

Then Latiya realized that Helga was crying. She crept closer. Her red hair clung to the back of her neck like moss. Helga still did not notice her presence.

"I do what I must," Helga whispered.

Latiya couldn't hear very well, as Helga mouthed something else. The little girl whispered a Hearing Charm she had taught herself.

"I have always done what I must, what I have to," Helga continued. She was walking faster now, circling the man in a stretcher like he was a fire that might leap out and burn her if she paused in one place too long. "They call be an angel, all of them. No one understands what I've been through. My best friend, marrying the only man I will ever love. My father, my horrible, rotten father who was never meant to be called by such a name."

Helga's father had been murdered half a year ago, Latiya remembered. Cut and bleeding, like ten thousand ribbons.

"I didn't even know he was one of you! He hid it so well, just like it hid everything except how he felt about it. He never loved me, and I had to protect myself the best way I could! So much the better if I stopped your wicked cause the same time I killed him for my sake!" The sobs became louder, the tears brighter. "And I don't feel sorrow! I never felt sorrow, for I knew I did what was right! Do you think I will stop now? If any of you are out there, hear this! This school will do so much more good than any evil that will ever come from it! Do I doubt the prophecies? No! But there are other ways! All the students I love so much! I will not turn my back on them! And so, you, the messenger, I am not sorry for this!"

Latiya could not shut her eyes.

The spell had no words. All the appeared in the air were shards of what looked like glass. Almost like glass, but made of magic. They glimmered like so many stars. The mist left them clean and clear and perfect and sharp like sunlight. Latiya had never seen anything so beautiful. Even though she knew what was coming.

The shards dropped.

Their sharp edges glimmered, almost flaming. The blood that arose made its own color of fire. The stretcher dropped, the man not so much as gasping.

And then it was over.

Latiya realized she was not breathing. Nor crying. She was not scared, not one little bit.

She had no idea Helga was so brave.

And there was Helga.

She sunk to the ground, next to the now-dead body, her sobs loud like the screams of an animal.

Latiya felt her heart break. Slowly, she crept toward the woman and gently touched her shoulder.

Helga shuddered and fell back.

Latiya stood where she was. "I'm sorry, Helga. But I did not want to go back to the castle."

Helga stared back at her, looking more frightened that Latiya herself had ever felt. "You... you saw that?"

Latiya supposed, briefly, that most other little girls would have been scared that the same horrible fate would have been given to them, but for some reason Latiya did not feel that way. "I will keep your secret, I won't tell anyone. I thought you were very brave."

"You shouldn't have watched," Helga said, pulling herself to her feet and tightening her cape around her. She wouldn't meet Latiya's eyes. "Why did you watch?"

"I wanted to. I want to protect Hogwarts. I won't tell."

"I had to, Latiya. I had to."

Latiya nodded. Of course. She knew that adults sometimes had to do things they did not want to do. "I promise."

Helga buried her face in her hands. "I know. I believe you. Thank-you."

The man's cloak was still on the grass. Latiya picked it up. "Can I have this?"

Helga barely glanced. "Yes. Your mother won't like it, but... it's a gift. From me."

Latiya put on the cloak. Helga watched her, still sniffing back tears.

"How do I look?" she asked, twirling around. She would have to grow into it.

Helga shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know if I like how you look in it. I guess I will just have to get used to it."

---------------------------------------------------------

"They're just trying to scare us, dear." Rowena sat by the mirror, brushing out her curls. "All they want to do is scare us. At least for now."

Godric smiled. At least his wife was trying to add some sort of humor into the situation. He was so tired, still so tired. The fire they had set up seemed so out of place so early in the morning. It burned out of defiance, nothing else.

"I still feel they should be a concern," said Marigold. "If it is the Fighters... they have all sorts of methods, you know that!"

"And so do we!" Godric replied, stomping his foot hard into the ground. It hurt, but he didn't care. "I'm tired of this. Jonas and Terminus... they knew all about this! But they wanted to build the school anyway! There is a reason! The school is necessary for whatever fate plans on throwing at us."

"Sometimes you say you don't believe in fate," said Helga. She was there, standing in the doorway, face paler than normal.

"And sometimes I don't know what to believe." Godric slid his hand through his hair, feeling his breath rip its way at his lungs. A nightmare. He would wake up soon, find himself in bed next to Rowena. Everything would be all right. But they hadn't heard from the Fighters in so long.

Why were they so concerned once more? Salazar... he was gone. Long gone. He had given up on the fate of his friend. If Salazar ever wished to return to Hogwarts, wonderful. But they had also instructed him before to simply kill Salazar. Hah. Murder. Murder never did anything. Evil begat evil, no good could ever come from it. If only he did what he needed, everything, somehow, would be all right in the end.

He hated having to care so much.

Rowena put down the brush. "They really are trying to scare us. And I mean it with more severity than it sounds. If they can scare us into closing the school, who knows what will happen? This great evil of the future... I believe it will still happen, regardless."

"And the way to defeat it will also come through this school," Godric said, remembering a conversation he had once had. It seemed like centuries ago.

"So much good comes from the school," Rowena said. "The Muggles... the speak of God, some. Others of the Goddess. We are accused of what we are not. God wills this school and I accept it. We can't toss aside so much goodness for the sake of a little evil."

A servant, bringing the food Godric had asked for, nodded in silent agreement.

"Thank-you!" Rowana replied proudly.

She was right, Godric thought. His heart seemed to glow at the thought. These Fighters, he had always known they were evil. Only something of evil could demand the closure of goodness, the death of someone he loved.

But if they ever tried anything again... people could die. His students. The young witches and wizards full of so much promise! And it could expand. Other schools were being built, from this example. All part of the plan created by Jonas and Terminus. But people could die.

The Fighters were ruthless.

His father's sword was kept in the corner, carefully and lovingly watched over.

Godric nodded to no one in particular and swept across the room to pick up the sword. It was lighter than he remember, and somehow so much more beautiful. Made by Muggles. But that didn't matter. His father had been a Muggle, but a good man.

This sword would protect everyone.

"We will not obey them," he said finally.

Marigold rolled her eyes, but the smile was there.

"The school still stands, no matter what they do."

Hopefully they wouldn't do much.

He caught Helga's eye, and they exchanged the briefest of smiles. Somehow that smile meant more to him than anything.


	24. The Woods

_"I will be flying, higher and truer, than I've flown before..."_

–Martina McBride_, From the Ashes_

_-------------------------------------------------------_

The spot Salazar had selected was a clearing in the forest, the site of a former fire in decades past that left the plants beginning to resurrect themselves and the remainders of scorched wood as a symbolic history. Nearby was a spring, first hot and eventually cooling itself out in the subsequent creek. Just outside the clearing were the ancient maples, tall and towering, forming a tarp of leaves and branches twisted like worms over the clearing. One tree turned in on itself, forming a concave hollow between the stronger roots. It was here he built the hut, one side of the maple forming an impenetrable wall. The hut was good, was huts went. His father had been a master in that regard, pioneering and magic skills learned from a lifetime of servitude in the swamps outside the Clearwater manor that even a small boy could pick up on and imitate. Perhaps he had always had such skills. Talents could show themselves in stranger ways.

The hut stood strong, on the small side, but then again he was only one man. The walls were thick, yet allowed the air when necessary through a simple charm in the muddy mortar. The furniture was simple, what some might call crude, but Salazar liked such atmosphere. After so many years of living in a castle, it was rather nice to come back to a bed and a chair constructed from wood, twine, and gritty, practical spells. A fire could roar inside, the hut ignoring the burning flames. The first winter surprised even him, as the hut held up against snow and wind, warm and cozy as one could please. The second and the third came without a bat of his eye.

Yet it was the woods that had caught his attention. They were different from the wetness of the fen, dry and wet as the weather pleased, tall and sheltering and keeping of its own mysteries. Nor did the woods question. They had their secrets, and the trees held no concern if he had his. There was an understanding there, one that Salazar was satisfied with. Magic was strong there. Plants grew, begging to be placed in potions, and Salazar soon found himself studying and writing. Parchment was easy enough to make, and though it seemed odd to do so in face of the almost certainty that no one would ever see his studies, he enjoyed it. He practiced and practiced and studied and studied each day.

Why were students not taken into the woods? He wondered. Why had Hogwarts claimed itself as a building? The magic was so much stronger out here.

The animals did not fear him. He had treaded into an area not frequented by humans, and though he was admittedly marked as a curiosity in the beginning, the animals soon enough acclimated themselves; one more creature, one less, they did not care. Indeed, he found himself on friendly terms with several. Especially the snakes. None, of course, were like Ethelinda, but she had been one of a kind and it was unfair to judge others by her.

It was a strange fate at which he often laughed. He, Salazar Slytherin, son of Siyth Slytherin, servant to the great Lord Terminus. A boy who had grown up in the wetlands of a lake, a family name unknown and uncared for. A boy trained to a great wizard, a founder and a teacher of a school rising to a fame that even the snakes heard rumor of. And now, as so many things did, he had come back to the beginning. Here he was, destined to spend the rest of his days as a hermit.

He supposed it was better than killing himself. And it was not as if he preferred this life, though it certainly was agreeable. Many a time Salazar had considered returning to Hogwarts. He would be welcome, he knew that. But every time he thought of doing so, the words of the prophecy he had read came floating back to him: _"The seed of darkness will come through the union of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Generations will pass, but the child of darkness will come through Slytherin."_

If he ever returned... he had heard the rumors, the reason the school was hated by so many.

He would not be responsible for that. Even if it meant he had to give up Rowena.

And of course she was no longer able to be his. She and Godric had married. That was irony. The only girl he had ever loved married to the best friend he could ever ask for. But they would be happy together. It was a blessing, no doubt. The two people he loved the most together. They would grow to love each other and all would be well. That helped staunch the heartbreak, a little. Helga would be heartbroken as well; Salazar knew how she felt for Godric. But in time, she would find someone else. Someone who would love her and she would love him back. Of course that would happen. Beautiful, sweet Helga with hair of gold and the touch of an angel. Salazar hoped he hadn't hurt her too much.

But Rowena, that was different.

Sometimes he still dreamed about her, and in dreams she was there, smiling, beckoning to him. She still wore the ring of mist about her finger, vowing forever to be his bride, forgiveness tumbling from her hands and mouth. On rare occasions, thankfully rare, she was a nightmare, angry and hurt and above all crying. He could not bear to see her tears.

If he could have explained everything to her, she would have understood. Maybe. But they would have had to separate regardless.

And so he found himself a refuge in the woods, far away from the reach of Hogwarts. No one looked for him, he did not expect them to. It was best this way. And for a few years, his fate was sealed.

It was a morning in late summer, the third year after Salazar had fled. The sun was strong, light and heat beating their ways past the maple canopy to the clearing below. The spring, already flooding hot water, joyfully took in the extra warmth. The glare was strong, blinding, and yet felt good on his bare skin. He stripped off his shirt as he headed to the spring. Animals were already there, drinking from the stream. They no longer paid him a glance as he joined them. He dunked his head into the water gushing from the ground.

"Care to fetch a lady a drink, good sir?"

He was so surprised he felt right into the spring. He had not heard the voice of another human in so long that he almost did not recognize the words. But he did recall the sharp giggle that accompanied his fall.

She sat on a rock on the other side of the water, pretty as ever, with her blonde hair and her laughing green eyes. Tanith. "I did not see you as the type that would fancy a swim, Salazar. Shows how much I know of you. You must take me for a silly girl. The last time we met I told you my feelings for you, and now I confess that I know absolutely nothing of your nature." She laughed again. Strange how it seemed so at home in these woods.

Salazar stared up at her, muscles of his throat working their way into words while his mind raced for reason. "What are you doing here?" His voice, unused, was like a hiss. He did not mind. She was a trespasser, at least that was the way he should feel.

She cocked her head to the side, sending blonde waves over the grey shirt she was wearing. Slacks and old hunting boots completed her outfit, one that looked like she had stolen from a poor woodsman. What of her fancy dresses? "What am I doing here? I believe I should be entitled to ask you the same question."

Grinding his teeth together, he rose to his feet. The water dripped from his bare torso, and that was humiliating enough. Imagine had he come naked! Oh, how she would have mocked him then! "You and your riddles, Tanith. Are you incapable of a straight answer?"

She shrugged.

He kicked at the water and climbed to the shore opposite Tanith. "Leave. I am dead to the world. You should not be here. I don't want you here."

"Dead? Salazar, that is precisely what the Fighters want! Don't you understand?" She hopped from her rock, balanced awkwardly at the bank, and hopped to his side. "You're frightened, so you do exactly what they say."

"Prophecies. Fate. I no longer care." He ran a hand through his hair, flicking out the water. "I'm here for my own reasons."

"And so the Fighters have nothing to do with it?"

He started back across the clearing, a wide pace that he half-hoped she wouldn't keep up with. "I do believe in prophecies, the real ones. I would be unwise not to. I do not fear the Fighters, or anyone in the Order of the Phoenix. I only do what I can."

Again that laugh. "A wise answer."

She was keeping up better than he had thought. Probably had something to do with the boots and slacks she wore. More girls should be more intelligent. "Who are you to determine wise?" he asked. "You've said it yourself, you're nothing but a messenger."

"Not anymore!"

He stopped and whirled around to face her. She froze instantly, looking up at him with those mocking green eyes. "Whose side are you on? Are you a puppet of the Order? Some other group we know nothing of?" Just as fast he spun back around.

Tanith grabbed his hand. "Testy, you certainly are. You make it all so much more interesting. If you really want to know, you should have asked me years ago. I believe the school of Hogwarts should stand until the end of time. I've played my part to encourage its safety. The riddles you make fun of, they are simply my way. A word here, and word there. There is great power in words."

"Whose messenger are you?"

She smiled, big and bright. "That's my own secret, though it is a thing of the past. I am no one now, not that I was anything before. No one but Tanith."

Another riddle. He was sure of it. He studied her face, trying to decipher whatever she said. She did not seem to mind.

"You have yet to bring me the drink you promised," she said with the innocence of a child.

The spring was already behind them. Salazar gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Come to my hut. The huckleberries are ripe–I have collected their juice. It's quite a treat."

"Huckleberries. I'm excited."

She laughed when she saw the hut, always assuring, between bursts of giggles, that she was most impressed. Certainly enough the inside caught her eye. She cooed and commented over each piece of whittled furniture, calling it all absolutely charming. Then she perched in his only chair, elbows on the table. "I wish for my drink now."

This could not be happening to him right now. Of all people that could find their way out here, it would be Tanith. He reached for the bottle in the cupboard. Thankfully he had made multiple cups. He tipped the bottle over two and let the dark juice run out. "How did you find me? And why?"

"You leave quite the trail, Salazar, but I do say chance had its part. Perhaps it was fated we should meet. I will tell you that I was not looking for you in particular."

He set the cup in front of her and crouched on the other side of the table with his own. "Then what were you looking for?"

She wrapped both tiny hands around the cup and lifted it to her lips. "Mm. This is delicious. Perhaps this is what I was looking for."

"Be serious."

"Is a harvest of berries worth more or less than any other quest? Is what is found worthless compared to what one intended to find but never did? Why must I always have to find something?"

A smile pulled at his lips. "More riddles."

"Thoughts, more likely." She licked her lips and took another sip. "Scarcely I know my own. Makes life an adventure, though."

He shrugged.

"Maybe I was meant to find you. I have thought about you often. I told you on our last meeting how much you impressed me. The fantasies of a little girl, of course. But you will no doubt forgive that. I'm a wanderer, you see. Once I was a messenger, once I tried to assist fate. But that no longer concerns me. I have long lost my people, so I went out on my own, and my path led me here."

"Who are your people?"

"An old tribe, common as dirt. People marry people, and in the end it no longer matters. They have been here a long time, many of them. Rumor has it that some ancestors came from the great continent to the east, the great continent to the south. A mess of blood that still held its own majesty. In a way."

For the first time he drank the huckleberry juice. Sweet, today. "Sometimes I wonder if it is best for everyone that like blood stays with like blood."

"I suppose there are good reasons there. But sometimes I think it no longer matters."

That night he offered her his bed, willing to sleep on the floor. Or perhaps he would conjur up something luxurious for her. But the woods had been her bed for many a night, and she was happy enough in the clearing, on a mattress of long grass. He awoke early, before she did, and watched her from his doorway. She curled up like an infant, hair all about her. He wished she would hurry up and leave.

But as he was eating breakfast she awoke. "Come, Salazar! Let's play in the spring!" And she dragged him unwillingly to the water, sending animals scurrying away.

The next day he again woke early, just as the sun was rising. The clearing was filled with shadows. He climbed out into the grass and scooped her up. She did not wake until he had thrown her into the colder portion of the stream. That was the first time he had ever heard her scream, and the sound was marvelous, and worth the wave of water she sent at him.

Tanith was eager to explore the woods, and she insisted Salazar show her the nearby trees. They would hike for hours, never growing weary, and eat lunch on fallen trees writhing with rot. She pointed out the life taking over the dead wood. "See? It's their new home!"

"You can't have a home in a log."

"Salazar, you have your home at the base of a tree. You cannot talk."

At supper, she would tell stories, fantastical stories of creatures she had learned from her grandmother. He would banter back with stories his father had told him. That seemed to sadden her, a strange expression that did not fit with her face.

"Do you ever miss your father?" she asked once. "I know that he was murdered, I know that..."

"He was wicked. That was the hardest part, to accept what he had done."

Tanith pressed on. "You loved him, though?"

"Of course I loved him. He was my father. He taught me so much. He loved me." It hurt to talk about him, but there was something healing in the pain, something that tasted spicy on his lips as he spoke. "We grew up in a fen. Being out here reminds me of him."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."

He talked about the others, Helga and Godric and Rowena. He and Tanith made up a game, predicting what each of them would be doing. She didn't seem to mind talking about Rowena.

"She was a nice girl, beautiful, and so very intelligent. You should have married her."

That was when he told about the prophecy. Tanith understood that as well. She had her own stories, growing up by an old road, games with her brothers and sisters, friendships she had shared. Her childhood had been happy, but she said she had her own life to live.

One night they lay out in the clearing, side by side. With magic they had pushed aside the branches, leaving the sky wide open for all stars. There weren't many.

"Did you know," Tanith said, "that if you concentrate on one spot, the stars will come to you?"

"I did know," Salazar replied. "I didn't know anyone else knew."

"We're not all alone."

For a long time, neither of them said anything.

"Do you remember what I said, the last time we met at the lake?" she finally asked.

He nodded. "You are talking about the basilisk?"

She laughed and slugged him.

He also laughed. "You said..." The memory floated from somewhere, a place deep inside his mind where it had been safely locked up. " You said you would wait to give me reason to love you."

"Have I?" Her voice was a whisper, void of all her usual confidence. It should have scared Salazar, but it didn't.

He sat up and stared at a patch of blue/black sky. Slowly, before his eyes, a star appeared. Then he bent over and gently, ever gently, kissed Tanith's lips.

He didn't know how many stars came out after that. One by one, until the sky glittered.


	25. Ranem

Godric wasn't all that sure when it began. Perhaps he wasn't meant to see all of it, and admittedly it was his own fault he could not. There were things to do. He, Helga, and Rowena had made it clear to the school and indeed the entire wizarding world that they intended Hogwarts to stand. He was surprised so few had understood that logic, that if the magic ways were not kept, they would eventually fade. A school was necessary to unite, and just because someone said that something bad would happen in the future because of Hogwarts was not enough to make them change their minds. As he imagined, the response, though mixed, rather agreed with them. But still, it was an effort.

Ranem Black was a teacher who agreed. He had joined the school about a year prior, and even Godric had to admit that the man was a great wizard indeed. He was young, about the same age as Godric, and just as devoted to Hogwarts as anyone could be.

And yet... Godric had never been all that sure of his personal opinion of the man. He studied him from across the hall.

Ranem came from the eastern-most part of Britain, a city Godric had never heard of. He was intelligent, and had studied and written many parchments on magical beasts. He was famed as an amateur dragon hunter. Most likely he and his works would never stand the test of time and make their way to posterity, but he was good.

He was teaching a class, then, reports on uses for unicorns' tail hairs. There weren't many students there, about half a dozen altogether. No, Godric could count better than that–there were seven, all young and listening as if there were nothing more interesting.

Well, Godric thought with a half-smile, there probably wasn't. Not at that age, not with four of the children being girls who surely thought Ranem Black was plenty handsome. Latiya Weasley, especially, seemed to follow the man about with her eyes.

His little cousin. She was growing up so fast. Eleven years old, now, and getting to be quite a beauty. Her parents would have difficulties galore with her, come a few years. She was a talented young witch and would certainly marry well.

It had to be all right for her to have a small infatuation for a handsome teacher.

Yet there was something about Ranem that Godric could not put his finger on. He had questioned him, of course, questioned him plenty. There didn't seem to be anything wrong. He had discussed his feelings with Helga and Rowena. They said he was simply being silly.

And maybe he was.

A sharp tug came from the edge of his cloak, near the floor.

Wonderful, he thought. Mary had once again found a way to free herself. No spell could keep the girl in check. He smiled down at the dark-haired baby girl and scooped her up into his arms. Mary was almost a year old now, and as big a pest as one could ask for. She took after her mother that way. Even better.

He made a silly smile at the girl and laughed as she scowled back at him with her chubby frown. Oh, but she was extremely cute. Of course, all fathers said that about their babies.

And Rowena was with child again. Would the next one be even cuter? He wanted a son this next time–oh, how they had fought over that! Rowena demanded another a girl... she'd never have a son, if she had anything to do with it. Godric had, of course, been unable to resist that no magic on earth could make way for a boy or a girl birth.

Helga slipped into the classroom, one of her older students in tow. Her golden hair had been braided, and hung over her yellow robes. She was laughing and talking with the young witch, and for it took a moment for her eyes to meet with Godric's.

Her smile faltered, just for an instant.

Godric, at least, maintained it.

Ranem immediately wrapped up the discussion. As entranced as the students were, they were still children and were than happy to scatter off to whatever destructive things liked to occur in the castle.

Mary blabbered something and tried to eat Godric's collar. He cuddled her closer to his chest. The class was gone. He had been doing nothing but observing. This was his opportunity to leave. He had his own class to teach, rather soon. Find a place to put Mary, and...

Helga and Ranem were now talking. Smiling.

Godric could do nothing but stare. Surely...

But he thought the last of his feelings for Helga had fled. After all, Rowena had gotten over Salazar.

Helga edged closer to Ranem. Her student leaned back against the wall, rather amused, thinking the same thing that Godric did not dare to think.

Mary shrieked and attempted to dash herself against the stone floor, as she was often prone to do, a dare that someone would not catch her. Godric clutched her tight and softly scolded her with his index finger that she next found the desire to gnaw on.

Soon, Helga left, student with her, silently giggling.

Ranem just stood there, a strange grin on his face. Then he turned to Godric. "Beautiful girl, isn't she?"

Why hadn't Godric seen it before?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rowena rarely thought of Salazar, anymore. It was a strange way to be, but what else was she supposed to do? She supposed she still loved him, in her own little way. Yet she ran a hand over her belly, just beginning to swell with her second child, and smiled. She really did love Godric. Was that terrible of her? Was she horrible to think in such a way?

But Godric was her husband, after all! What else was she supposed to do? Not love him? Was it a sin to love him? Some said it was a sin to not love one's husband. The last few years had been wonderful. They had a beautiful daughter, already dangerously receptive to magic, and another on the way. Secretly, Rowena hoped it would be a boy. Just to assure that no matter how many children they had, it wouldn't be all of one or the other. Still, she did tell Godric that she wanted another daughter. Mary needed a baby sister.

Where was that girl, anyway? Carnation had insisted on carrying her off somewhere. No matter–the castle was filled with enough spells made especially for a wayward baby.

She could hear someone outside at the very moment.

And, for the briefest moment, she imagined it was Salazar.

No. She wasn't allowed to think of him. For all any of them knew, he was dead. Dead and gone.

Rarely thought of him? She shook her head. Months could pass, and then this.

It hurt her, still. And she knew how much it hurt Godric. They had been like brothers. Godric sometimes liked to talk about Salazar. She knew she missed him, but to her it was better this way. She had done what she could for his memory.

She made her way to the doorway and looked out. Latiya and Albesar, laughing over a painting they were in the middle of hanging. An idea of Albesar's, who had become quite the little artist. They had decided it would be very amusing if they enchanted the paintings to talk. Though Jonas had recently told Rowena that the idea was ingenius and he planned to have it incorporated into other things.

She waved at the children and stepped back into the room. It was only two rooms away, actually. Godric had thought of the idea. She had thought it best it be there. Somehow it that seemed wrong. After all, Godric knew that she had been in love with Sal for years. But he was Sal's best friend.

Rose had heard of the idea from the Roman Muggles. Water ways, a method of bringing water from outside to the inside. No one had really bothered to see all the notes and knowledge behind it, of course, but the basic concept and some spells had provided plenty of usefulness. A small fountain for drinking and bathing. The water poured from a spout, and behind that is where she had found the space she had told Godric about.Down, down below Hogwarts in great cave. It had taken months to build, even with magic. Hallways and the like. Very fancy. True, Salazar had never cared for such things, but that was half the fun: he wasn't there to yell at them. They had even built a statue of an old man. They weren't really sure why they had decided on including such an ugly old thing, but they had been in a strange, laughing mood and it would be sure to make Salazar all the more irritated with their obvious insanity. Godric had said it would have been even funnier if people in the future assumed the statue was actually of Salazar.

That had been two years ago, just after that final night she had awoken in the wee hours of the morning. The last time she had done such a thing.

After the place was built, she returned. She did not tell Godric. And that basilisk thing she had found, the one that could turn small animals into stone, she had placed there. And left it. She had no idea if it would die or not.

It struck her as something Salazar would have wanted.

She glanced out into the hall again, still hoping Carnation or someone would return with Mary. Albesar had vanished, and there was Latiya by herself, running around in that silly black cloak she had gotten from somewhere. It was creepy to watch, Rowena decided. She had half a mind to tell the girl to take the thing off when Ranem appeared.

Ranem. She had never really liked him. Helga did, though. Helga had mentioned him more than once.

He seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Not quite Apparation, but slithered in. He was kind, Rowena admitted. She could never figure out why she didn't like him.

Latiya stopped her game and smiled up at him.

Rowena quickly made herself invisible.

"I hear your dream is to protect Hogwarts, Lady Weasley," Ranem said.

Latiya gave a brisk nod. "Oh, yes!"

"Would you do anything to?"

Another nod.

Rowena did not like where this was going.

Ranem's smile grew. "Then meet me at the lake. Tonight. I have something to tell you. To show you."

Harmless, Rowena tried to tell herself. Harmless.

And with that, Latiya seemed to lose interest and return to her game of flapping about in that cloak.

Ranem walked off, before Rowena could even think.

And a gasp, a sigh dying for breath, came out of nowhere.

Rose walked around the corner. She looked absolutely kill.

"Rose!" Rowena quickly shut off her invisibility and dashed to the older woman as she nearly collapsed. "Rose, breath!"

Rose looked up at her, pale and wide-eyed. "Don't let her go, Rowe. Do not let her go!"


	26. Dementor

_"I'll walk away stronger..."_

--Martina McBride, "From the Ashes"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Though it seemed otherwise impossible, the air in the hall grew colder like an approaching winter. Rowena hovered over Rose like she herself were a blanket with the sole purpose of protecting Rose. But for herself, Rose simply huddled in a shaking ball of tears and harsh breathing. That breathing filled the stone halls until Rowena thought she would go deaf. "Rose, please! What did you see?" The woman's talent as a seer was legendary. "What did you see?"

Rose shook her head, scarcely hearing Rowena. "She's my niece, for heaven's sake! You need to protect her! It's going to happen! And Helga–"

"Helga." Rowena nodded. "Yes, I'll get Helga. I'll bring her right back here." Though, to be honest, she was beginning to find this incident on the side of ridiculous. But she shouldn't. After all, Rose was a seer.

"No!" Rose clasped Rowena's left hand tightly. "Helga can't go, either! She'll..."

"I don't understand." Forget the ridiculous. Rowena herself could hardly breathe. And all she had wanted to do was find out where her daughter had crawled off to! The best she could with her pregnant body, Rowena slid an arm under Rose's and hoisted her off the ground. Rose seemed to awaken some, and her feet skittered over the stones until she found a sort of half-balance. "Come on, Rose. You are tired and you had a fright. You're going to lie down now. You see? Just lie down and you'll be fine."

Rose's head fella against Rowena's shoulder. "My head hurts..."

"You'll be fine."

"Don't let Latiya go. I didn't know that she was..."

"I'll lock the child in a dungeon if I have to," Rowena promised. "I'll..."

Something was not right. In took a fraction of a second for that fact to be known. Rowena paused, and even Rose seemed to know that something–something else– was wrong. For a brief moment it seemed the castle would collapse in on them.

She reached for her wand.

And as she did, the spell blasted into her back.

The baby was down for his nap. Heather yawned and tiptoed softly from the cradle where her son was cooing into some dream. Hopefully he would stay that way. And hopefully a bad dream wouldn't lend itself to some horrified blast of magic. From an infant, of all people. Heather thought she would be use to such incidents by now, with all her children and her idiot wizard of a husband, but perhaps it was something a Muggle like herself would never become accustomed to. She was proud of her children's abilities, of course, but there were sometimes when Carnation was making a rat she had found grow to a grotesque size that she couldn't help but wish that one babe had been void of any magical tendencies.

She reached the door and closed it gently behind her. Already she could see that beast of a spirit floating above her. Oh, he had better not wake Darren. Heather put a finger to her lips, only to have Peeves mimic her. Oh, well. He preferred tormenting those who would give him more of a reaction. But the baby had refused to sleep for so long...

"Someone's watching you," Peeves said in a sing-song voice. His glowing face nodded down the hallway.

She did not have the time. She sighed and turned to go the other way. It was strange enough living in this odd little castle, but the children had fun and...

"Imperio!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You are a most intriguing girl, you realize. I had never much thought of witches of the north country, but you... you are intriguing and beautiful besides."

Helga had never really longed for flattery, but she couldn't help but smile as she reached for another kiss. She had never met someone quite like Ranem Black, either, and to be perfectly honest she didn't feel like much more than a common whore. But so far nothing had happened and she didn't intend to let it. But there was something delightful about an innocent little tryst in the astrology tower. It was nearing sunset and the tower might as well have been on fire. All the more romantic. "I bet you tell that to all the witches."

"Hardly. At least, not for a few years. At least I haven't felt the same way about the as I have felt about you." He pushed her harder against the wall and pressed his lips tighter against hers.

She felt like laughing and made a weak and teasing attempt to push him away that only led to her arms massaging the back of his shoulders. Then she broke apart for much needed breath. "Liar."

He did laugh, soft and murmuring, as if anything louder would break the spell. "Maybe, maybe not. But do you care?"

"Not really. To be honest, I've thought you quite handsome ever since you first came to Hogwarts."

"Now you are the liar, my darling."

She kissed him in an effort to silence him. No, she had not been a liar. The truth was that Godric was married to Rowena and there was no longer any point in chasing him. The truth was that Helga was very beautiful and Ranem was not the first man to look upon her with interest; it wasn't the same violent beauty that possessed Rowena, but hers was a sweetness men seemed to prefer. Another teacher, in fact, by the sole name of David, already blushed whenever she came into his presence. Ranem, at least, pursued her, and that was something she liked. Godric had never dared pursue her. Besides, Ranem was handsome and intelligent. He was interesting to be around. After all, they had kept this up for the past month. Her hands slid up his shoulder and neck to his hair, pale brown and wonderfully soft. She threaded it between her fingers like silk.

Ranem's kisses moved to her neck. Giggling, she guided his head into her shoulder. "What if we get caught?"

"By whom? Gryffindor?"

In a way, she almost hoped so. In a way, this would be perfect revenge. "Well, by anyone. Though I suppose enough students have seen us."

"We've made sure of that. And I don't even understand why. Helga, you are going to gain a reputation."

"Only to replace the one Rowena lost when she married."

"So you're telling me that you wish to be the last Rowena?"

She kissed his forehead. "I'm only saying that I wish to be with you."

"I wish the same thing." He raised his head and kissed her mouth once more. And held it for what seemed to be an eternity that ended too soon. "Unfortunately, for tonight, I must go. I promised a student I would tutor her privately."

"Oh." That was all right. "Well, then, you musn't be late, then."

He was already heading toward the door. When he reached it, he bowed. "Farewell, my lady."

She waved back and laughed. "Farewell!"

And then she found herself alone in the tower. The sun had nearly finished setting, and the stars were appearing in the dark blue sky that still hovered with drops of fire. She made her way to the balcony, still feeling a happy sort of silly. It had been so long since she had last been in love. Did Ricky even count anymore?

No. She could no longer think of him. She must think of Ranem.

And that was a lovely thought. Very, very exciting.

Yes, she definitely loved Ranem now.

She stared out over the lake for what seemed like hours.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Latiya wasn't precisely sure what Ranem had meant by "tonight", but she supposed that the earlier she were there the safer she would be. She snuck out after sunset, carrying her wand and wearing the ridiculously huge cloak Helga had allowed her to have. Several girls asked her where she was off to, but lost interest when she said it was studying. Which wasn't a complete lie. Ranem was a teacher, and she would be learning something.

Learning something to protect the school. Her heart beat faster as she thought of this. Because of her, Hogwarts would be safe forever.

Well, that wasn't exactly what Ranem had said, her imagination did plenty of work, but it was certainly a hope. As she walked through the tunnels, she laughed and threw out whatever spells she could think of against the walls. One of the older boys had discovered that some time ago: a spell game, making walls, doors, and stairways move even more than she did. But as she neared the castle's main door, fewer and fewer spells poured from her wand.

And then she was outside. The sky above held no stars, only clouds that showed something of a full moon forcing its way through. She didn't matter, the night was lovely enough, and she felt so powerful in that cloak! She broke into a run and sped to the lake's edge, cloak trailing out behind her like a ghost.

Ranem was already there. And, to Latiya's surprise, her aunt Heather.

Latiya, confused, waved at her. Heather smiled and returned the wave.

But Heather was a Muggle. What did she have to do with this? Oh, well.

Ranem stood at the water's edge, so close that the black water actually licked at his boots. He wore a black cloak, rather similar to Latiya's. He stared out over the lake, watching.

Latiya was rather hurt that Heather would notice her when Ranem didn't. She stood where she was for a few moments, then softly clearer her throat. "Ranem, sir. Black."

He turned, smiling knowingly. Latiya instantly felt important. "Ah, Lady Weasley. Can I call you that?"

She giggled. She liked that name.

"I thought so. I'm so glad you could come. Tonight, I'm going to tell you something very important."

She held her breath. Here it came.

He stepped closer to her, then bent down so that his face was aligned with hers. "Latiya, you are someone very special. I know. You have a desire to protect this school."

Of course she did. "I named it!"

He laughed. Actually threw his head back and laughed. "That's what I understood! All the more we need your help."

"We?"

A wind picked up, thrashing through the tree branches like a pack of howling wolves. It was getting cold.

Ranem nodded. The wind did not seem to bother him. "Yes, we. I'm from the Order of the Phoenix. It has many factions, as you know, one of whom is determined, because of a mere prophecy that won't come true for centuries, to close this school."

"But the school is much more important!" She knew what the answer would be.

"Exactly. So I'm going to ask you something. I admit that this is a difficult choice to make, and it is entirely your choice. I will not think any less of you if you tell me no."

She had already decided she would say yes. "What must I do?"

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He seemed to be thinking. Then he opened them again, so that they met against hers. "What would you do for this school?"

She straightened herself up to her full height. "Anything."

"Would you give your life?"

She nodded. There was no doubt in her mind. Heroes gave their lives. Heroes gave everything.

He seemed to like that answer. "Would you give your eternal soul?"

Heroes gave everything. She nodded.

And so did he. "Good. I suspected your bravery and your goodness, but I admit I had no idea of how truly wonderful you were."

Latiya realized that she was shaking. But it was a wonderful feeling. She was shaking with excitement.

Ranem pulled out his wand and whirled it around. Soon a raft appeared. He extended his hand to her. "Come, Lady Weasley. We'll begin. Don't worry, your aunt will remain on the shore to watch you."

Heather hadn't spoken a single word.

Latiya greedily took Ranem's hand, and he guided her onto a raft. There was no room to sit, but she was not afraid of falling. The raft took off from the shore, moving with an invisible current that couldn't possibly exist on the lake.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Latiya!" Godric screamed as he darted from the main door. Helga was at his side, silent and running faster than he had ever seen her. Marigold was behind them, sobbing. Godric could not blame her–of course she was afraid! What mother wouldn't be? He screamed again, almost afraid of losing the sight of his cousin as she drifted out onto the lake. "Latiya!"

She didn't hear him. Couldn't hear him. Odd. He had sent it out with magic. The girl should be able to hear him, no matter where she was. He tried again. "Latiya! Oh, Helga, I can't reach her!"

Helga's frown tensed, but she didn't reply.

"We have to stop her!" Marigold said between tears. "What is she doing out there? With that man? What is going on?"

It couldn't be good. That was the one thing Godric knew. It could not be good.

A storm was brewing. He could feel it in the air. People had been watching the sky for a week, and they had not predicted this, this thing that had come out of nowhere. The wind was faster now, almost deadly, and he could barely keep his eyes open. "Latiya!"

No answer. The sound of the wind-blown trees seemed to absorb all other sound. He stared at them the best he could through squinted eyes. If the wind was any stronger, the black whips the trees had become would be ripped right from the ground. He clenched his teeth and ran harder. Why was the lake suddenly so far away?

It had seemed such a normal evening. All he had wanted to do was put Mary down for a nap. Then someone had come to him, crying. He had followed the child only to find his wife and his mother unconscious in a hallway. Barely had he found a place for them to rest then...

He couldn't get the look on Helga's face out of his mind.

She had seen something from the astrology tower. Ranem, Heather, and Latiya out on the lake. She hadn't trusted it.

Neither had Godric.

He pushed himself harder. Finally, the lake was creeping into view. And Heather... Heather just stood there!

Finally Helga spoke. "Heather! What's going on?"

Heather did not move. She only stared at them.

"Heather, please!" Marigold was screaming again.

Godric did not slow as he approached the bank. The raft was in the middle of the lake now, and Ranem had his wand... "Latiya!" he screeched. "Ranem!"

Ranem looked up, but Latiya made no motion.

He had the girl under a spell. What spell?

The water was in a rage now. It would knock the raft over and Latiya would drown. Furious, he dove into the water and began swimming for the raft.

He almost thought he would drown immediately. The water forced itself at his lungs, but he knew plenty of spells for air. If only he could get threw this water... the lake itself demanded his expulsion. From somewhere behind him, he heard another splash.

Gasping, he pulled up. He was only feet from the raft now. Ranem stood there, before Latiya, chanting something, his wand aglow and touching Latiya's forehead.

And there was Helga, actually clambering up the raft, screaming Latiya's name.

Except her eyes were on Ranem.

Ranem laughed.

Latiya seemed asleep.

Godric kept swimming, his brain demanding to know what was going on. All he knew was that it was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. "Helga!"

A wave rose from the lake's surface, black and at least six feet high. It collapsed on top of him. He was pushed under, so deeply under it was black. He kicked his feet as hard as he could and reached again for the surface. Another wave, batter down on him, bubbles and currents that failed to collapse at the surface but poured down after him with as much force as ever.

The lake was going to kill him.

He needed air. Bubble head charm. Simple enough. Though it seemed almost ready to pop as the waves continued against him. Still he fought until he thought his arms and legs would fall off. The air was there, but strength... he felt his head growing light and...

He was back on the shore. The charm fell away, and he choked the water he had absorbed anyway before sinking into the mud.

But he couldn't do that. Latiya. Helga.

"Ricky!" He felt arms moving to lift him up. "Ricky, are you all right? Is Latiya...?" Marigold stopped speaking for a moment. "Heather!"

Godric looked up to see the stony smoothness of a knife, clenched tightly in Heather's hands.

"No!" He wasn't sure if the scream was his. He tried to stand.

The blade slid across Marigold's neck. Blood splattered all over Godric.

"No!" This time he was on his feet, grabbing for his aunt's body. She collapsed into his arms like a rag doll, blood squirting like a fountain. Her eyes were open and blank. She was already dead.

Slowly Godric let Marigold slide to the earth. He couldn't take his gaze off of her. His heart pounded, and he felt the screaming inside of his head. From behind him he could hear nothing. Heather still did nothing. He finally turned to look at her. And that's when he did scream.

The blood covered her, and still she did nothing.

She was under a spell.

And she was raising the knife again.

With a final yell Godric grabbed her arm with one hand and his wand with another. She shouted in defiance and twisted toward him, but he blasted her away. She fell against a tree.

He did not wait to see if she were all right. The knife had fallen at his feet. He picked it up and jumped back into the lake. This time he was prepared for the waves. No matter what they did, he was stronger. He moved toward the raft, his only thought the destination. His eyes would not leave it. And then he was there. He grabbed the sides and pulled himself up.

Latiya lay on the raft, eyes closed, black cloak covering all of her but her eyes and nose. Helga was crouched over her, but those blue eyes were on Ranem.

"I loved you!" she screamed. "I loved you!"

Ranem just laughed. "You were a foolish girl. You were pretty, but foolish."

"What did you do?" Godric shouted. He jumped onto the raft, wand before him. He had actually swum with it. "What are you?"

Ranem held out his own wand in defense, but his smile was perfect. "I am simply a man seeking protection and revenge. My protection... this innocent girl here, no longer innocent." He gestured at Latiya.

Tears poured from Helga's eyes. "You monster," she whispered. "What did you do to her?"

"It was what she did to herself. She gave me her soul."

The most wicked of dark magic. Godric felt sick.

"But it is for good," Ranem continued. "She'll protect this school, she and those like her. There are many. When they die, and it won't be long for her, they'll continue to protect the school."

"Hogwarts means that much to you?" Helga asked. She looked sicker than Godric felt. "I should kill you! I should kill you know! You're sick!"

"The innocent ones are those we need," Ranem explained. "Latiya was the epitome of innocence. Innocence can be used for the greatest evil, you realize."

Godric still had the knife. "You put the Imperious Curse on Heather Evans. You did this to Latiya. You killed her mother."

"Heather Evans was only to stop people from getting out of here. Consider it a blessing that Marigold is dead. Not all react well when they learn what has happened to their children."

Even as he watched, Godric could see changes taking place in Latiya's face. Her skin seemed... darker. She was no longer breathing. But she wasn't dead.

Muttering something under her breath, Helga climbed to her feet. " I promised her once that I would protect her. I'm going to kill you."

"But I thought you loved me."

Godric shoved the knife into Ranem's chest the moment Ranem slammed his own knife into Helga.

Godric was not able to scream. Neither was Helga. She tumbled from the raft into the now-calm water, blood oozing down her chest.

"Helga!" Leaving Ranem's twitching body on the raft, he dove in after her. She was light, so light. He had forgotten. He held her to him with one arm and paddled with the other.

The shore seemed almost too close. He heaved her onto the shore and fell beside her. He only allowed himself a moment's rest for air. "Helga! Please, Helga, stay with me." He ran his hands down her face to her chest where the wound was, pale red of blood and water.

Her eyelids fluttered. "Latiya," she whispered.

Latiya.

She repeated the name again, this time as a scream. "Latiya!"

Godric ripped her robe away, not caring how inappropriate it would seem. He had never stopped loving her, not really. The blood was growing stronger.

"Ricky."

He stared up into Jonas' face. He had never seen Jonas look so old. And so hated.

Godric held Helga closer to his chest, her wet hair tangling in his fingers. "Is this it?" he hissed. "Is this it? Is this the event Mother saw?"

Jonas slowly, sadly, nodded. "We didn't think–"

"It wasn't supposed to happen." He wanted to scream, but the scream wasn't happening. "You said that if I married Rowe, this wouldn't happen."

"We were wrong."

"Of course you were wrong. You were wrong in everything. You... you..." He couldn't think of anything else to say. Marigold was dead. Latiya was gone. Helga... The wind had died down, and night birds began their songs.

Another figure appeared behind Jonas, and for a moment Godric thought it was a ghost.

"I'm too late," Salazar whispered. "I didn't know."


	27. Tears

_"My right hand holds matches_

_My left holds my past,_

_I hope the wind catches,_

_And burns it down fast."_

--Martina Mcbride, "From the Ashes"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Salazar had forgotten how Hogwarts' grounds smelled at night. Smell. He had never thought of that as a particularly strong or important sense, but a strange waft of familiarity that yet frightened him almost dared to pull him to the ground. The clearing had been something else: wild, earthy. Civilization held a scent all its own. He wasn't all that sure that he liked it, but familiar it was. Only one thing he recognized from the woods: blood.

He didn't realize he could smell so much.

He kept his lips tight and strides long as he followed the silent forms of Jonas and Godric back to the castle. The night was absolutely still, stark contrast to the earlier storm. The lake was glass, or black flint, he wasn't sure. The raft still lay out there, but he was sure that he would soon succumb to a broken spell and fade away. Latiya had vanished.

Godric had hardly looked at him, nothing beyond the first stare of gawking surprise. Salazar didn't blame him. Who was he to show up after three years? But he wouldn't have come, not if he hadn't felt it.

Their feet pounded against the stone floor of the hall, a loud thunder left over from the storm that almost dared awake all sleeping. Godric took the lead, the shaking body of Helga clasped tightly in his arms. Godric did not look at her, either, or at anything else; though his eyes were frozen in front of him, he seemed to be staring at nothing. Only his feet moved, hard and nearly running.

Salazar did not like to look at Helga, either. He only caught a glimpse of her, after Godric pulled her from the lake. The water had all but sucked the life out of her, pulling at the wound in her chest as if the blood were the lake's own. Her hair was dripping, a mop of gold that still glowed more brightly than anything. Her face, however, her very skin was the color of ash, white and void of any color. Her eyes were shut, eyelids quivering faintly with every movement. Her breath that had been so harsh and demanding had faded into the barest of puffs. She was a dying fire. Dying.

Heal her, he wanted to scream to Godric. Heal her! Certainly you know your basic healing! If he could make himself he would grab Helga. He wanted to examine the wound, treat it.

Though if that were his desire why hadn't he taken Latiya? He had come into time for that, to see a still form of collapsed shadows lying on a raft in the middle of the lake.'

Tanith had spoken of such things. Living souls yet, if a soul could be soulless. That was her only explanation and Salazar had never thought to prod her for more. But he had seen the signs. Could it be confirmed? She was a child, he thought. A mere child!

And then what was Helga? Helga and Latiya had always held a special bond. Helga's favorite she was, if such things were allowed.

So he followed along, a child himself again, silently pleading for Godric to do something.

Jonas took the back. He held his own burden. Marigold's body.

Salazar did not dare look back at him. They had appeared at the lake at the same time, an action that must have sealed something, an unspoken contract.

That Jonas broke.

"Why are you here?" His voice was muffled with tears and the way they caught in one's throat at the same time they poured from the eyes. "Why are you here?"

Still he did not look back at the old man. "I felt it. I knew I had to come."

"After three years?"

"Would you have preferred me to stay away?"

Salazar could almost feel what Jonas felt. He didn't reply, though for whatever reason the beginnings of a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth.

It had only been minutes ago. They had been talking, he and Tanith. No conversation topic in particular, just whatever had occurred to him. She had laughed at something he had said, something he could no longer remember, and had prepared herself a witty banter. He had not laughed, he had barely heard. All that mattered at that moment was a searing pain across his heart and the pressure of screams, soundless, on his eardrums. Tanith's face had turned serious, her question to ask what was the matter. He replied he did not know, but he had to leave.

"Leave," she had agreed. "You are needed." She had kissed him gently and sent him on his way.

Leave to what? He didn't know what he had felt, what he had come to stop. Now it was too late for Latiya and Marigold.

A staircase moved to Godric's silent bidding, and he all but flew up it. Water still dripped from his hair and clothing in such torrents that Salazar almost feared someone would slip. Rose was waiting at the top.

Salazar felt the air leave his lungs. But she did not notice him. Her eyes were already fixed on Helga, and her hands clapped over her mouth to stifle a silent scream. She seemed to murmur something. Then her hands were down, clenched in fists, and she turned. "The room right here. I shall prepare it." She pulled out her wand and whipped it at a door, then burst through.

Two beds were available, dressed in clean white sheets. Almost demanding a laugh, with the blood and water soon to soil them. Salazar fought the mad grin that wanted to conquer him. He wanted to fall to his knees and laugh and he did not know why for the life of him.

The two women were placed on the beds, one to a sudden burst of tremors and the other to limp silence. Helga's eyes flipped open momentarily, eerily bright, before snapping shut.

"Rose," Jonas whispered. He hovered over Marigold's body, squeezing her lifeless hand.

Rose could not even look at her sister. "She is dead. I see that. I know." Her eyes closed, as she bit her lip until the blood flowed. Then she shook her head, opened her eyes, and placed her hands on Helga.

Godric seemed ready to shove her away, but stood still. "Mother, this is what you saw, isn't it?"

She nodded, the only motion in a powerful statue. But then the sobs came. They burst from her mouths like screams, and she would have collapsed to the floor had Jonas not grabbed her.

"There's no time for this!" Salazar shouted.

"I know!" Godric still didn't look at him, but he had his wand now hovering over her. The robe had been torn, revealing her blood-soaked breasts. The wound was oozing, dark and thick, but it had missed her heart. Salazar ran a finger over the wound. It was deep and soft. "She's lost blood."

Godric nodded. "But she's alive. I don't believe the knife was cursed."

"So do something!" He wanted to strangle Godric.

Godric hesitated. "But she... no." He took a deep breath and waved his wand over the wound. It began to seal itself up.

"This isn't what I saw," Rose murmured. "I saw Helga, but it wasn't her I was to be worried about. It wasn't clear."

Salazar wished she would be silent.

Helga's breathing strengthened and steadied.

"Why did you build the school?" Rose's voice was clear now, and louder. "Jonas, what were you and Terminus thinking?"

"We were dying," Jonas replied. "Our skills were far too dispersed. Do you think this is wrong, to teach?"

"Was it worth it?"

It sounded like a question Tanith would ask.

"Of course it was," Salazar said. The reply startled him. He hadn't meant to speak aloud.

"Yes." Jonas ran a hand though Rose's hair. "Listen to your son."

Salazar's breath seemed to freeze. He stared down at Rose and Jonas. It couldn't be.

"I thought you of all people would understand."

Even Helga stirred as the others turned.

He stood near Marigold's bed, wispy white and silver, like mist. Ranem.

"You're dead," Godric hissed. "You're dead."

The ghost did not appear to hear. "Appreciate, no. But while we applauded your efforts the truth was that you could not hold out much longer. That faction of the Order was growing desperate. They were even prepared to let the wizarding race die out. They, who had fought so long against Muggles. They were afraid of the future. Ironic. They did not know what they wanted. They were gaining strength, so many volunteered to protect the school. But Latiya Weasley was the closest one to the school, the closest one willing. I could see the desire of her heart the moment I saw her. But I knew the rest of you would get in the way of her sacrifice!"

Salazar had studied little of the way of ghosts. He admitted he did not know what spirits were capable of. Ranem's last word ended as a scream, and with that, Marigold moved. Her hand pressed hard against the bed, and she rose.

Her skin was the color of death.

Rose screamed.

Marigold was dead, that much was clear. The blood had finally stopped, though it soaked her entire body and now congealed at her open neck. Salazar could see glimpses of the brittle bones. Her eyes were surrounded with deep bruises.

But still she rose. Stood. Walked.

"Her daughter is mine," Ranem said. "Death was best for her, and that was the purpose of the Muggle woman. I try to be kind. And Helga Hufflepuff was a murderess herself. That was the revenge I spoke of." The ghost was fainter now, the voice not quite as powerful. "See the power here that even in death I can summon. She was always used, held not power of her own. They will never destroy this place. Beware of your fading power."

Jonas raised a hand, and Marigold's corpse ignited.

Ranem immediately faded.

There was no scream from Marigold. She flopped to the floor, a rope of flame, and burned while they watched in horror.

Soon only ashes remained. Marigold was gone.

Salazar fell to the ground himself, gasping for air. Whatever his lungs sucked in was not enough. Something burned at his eyes. Tears. It was not fair. She had a husband, children. She was never meant to be part of so much wickedness!

Neither was Heather.

"Dark magic," Rose said softly. Her crying had stopped. "Dark magic."

"Who are we supposed to trust?" Godric asked.

"Don't close the school," Rose whispered. She stared down at the stone floor, looking as if she would be ill soon. And she was. Jonas held her shoulders as she wretched. Then she fell back into his arms, too weak to stand. "Ricky, Sal, don't close the school. Not after what Latiya did."

In a strange way, that made sense.

"He killed Marigold," Godric said. "He killed her. He forced Heather to kill her. I'm glad I killed him!"

"Some deserve to die," Salazar agreed. "They say life is too precious, but some deserve it. And Hogwarts..." A burst of rage sounded from his throat, and he slammed his fist into the floor. His knuckles broke, for all he knew. "What is everyone's obsession with this school?"

Rose stared at him, heartbroken.

He didn't care. He thought of the word he had heard Jonas use. Sons. Plural. And he didn't care about that. "You are my mother. Jonas said so. You must have known something. The prophecy they all fear--"

She shook her head and pushed herself away from Jonas. "Sal, you do not understand."

"I did not mean to tell," Jonas muttered. "I did not mean to tell."

"It doesn't matter anymore!" Godric screamed. "It doesn't matter. All of you! It's too late to change this, we must continue the way we were going."

Salazar met his eyes--his brother's eyes. "They are all afraid of this school bringing evil in the future. And that will come through my line! I thought that if Rowe and I did not have a child..." He couldn't speak anymore. He could no longer think of anything to say.

"Rowe." The name was like a question. Rose took a deep breath. "We were going to stop them. We were going to lock Latiya in her chambers. But then we were attacked. I woke up not long before you came. Rowena is with Mary now... So we lost Latiya."

Amazement filled the room, an odd emotion for the situation.

It seemed an eternity before Salazar and Godric left the room. Hours, at least, waiting for all feeling to subside. Helga was left to rest. Jonas and Rose promised they would deal with Marigold and Heather. Godric had protested, but lacked the strength to make it meaningful. So he and Godric left together.

To talk? It didn't seem so. There should have been so much to talk about. More and more thoughts filled Salazar's head with each step. Godric was his brother. Rose was his mother. His mother had murdered his father. He wondered, distantly, how he was supposed to feel about that. But there was nothing left to feel. Godric must have felt the same way.

He supposed it made sense, that they were brothers. They always had been.

The door flung open as they passed it, and Rowena dashed out. She was as beautiful as Salazar remembered. No, even more so. Her curls were down, thick and black. He wanted to touch them. She seemed pale, sick. This made him want to comfort her.

"Ricky!" She leaped into him, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissed him solidly. "Ricky, I am so sorry! I was attacked and..." She paused, hands now pressed against Godric's face. "Darling?" Her beautiful eyes widened, and it was clear she knew all. "Ricky, no!" She kissed him again, and her kisses were returned, before she sank into his chest. She cried for a long time, all the while Godric whispering into her ear.

Salazar did not know what it was that made her look up. Their eyes locked.

She did not let go of Godric. "Salazar."

"Rowena." He gave a small bow.

"You never came back," she whispered. "You never came back."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rowena had never cried so much in her entire life. The sadness came from everywhere inside of her, everything she had ever felt burst from her like a volcano. She was not supposed to feel this way, she knew. She was Rowena Ravenclaw, the brilliant girl who broke hearts and rejoiced in bad reputation--at least what she fancied to be scandalous enough. She had felt love for Salazar. She had cried over him. She had always wondered what the truth was, though, the truth of what she felt.

She held Mary, her beautiful, perfect daughter, the little girl she and Godric had brought into the world together. Mary was not Salazar's. The next baby was theirs as well. Not Salazar's. Other babies would come, maybe, hopefully. Mary was not quite asleep, but seemed perfectly content to be cuddled by her mother. No matter that mother was upset. That was comforting to Rowena. She had this baby, and the next one, to protect.

She thought of what she had learned of the night. Latiya, Marigold, countless others. For a moment her sobs ebbed, perhaps finally dry of all she had cried. She looked down at Mary. She was a darling baby. Precious beyond anything.

They were alone in the nursery together. Rowena had locked the door. Still gasping and choking, eyes still blurry, she stood up and crossed the room to the window. Dawn would be approaching in a few hours, and soon the rest of Hogwarts would know the tragedy that had occurred.

But for that moment, she had her baby. Mary yawned and cooed something. Rowena almost laughed. Instead, she kissed Mary's forehead. "I love you."

Perhaps this was all that was supposed to happen. Jonas and Godric had often spoken of good. Perhaps good would arise from all of this. Did an innocent baby mean nothing?

Mary, and the next baby, was hope.

She kissed Mary again and settled her into the cradle. The baby fussed for a moment, then settled as Rowena rocked the cradle and sang. An old song. "All sing you one, oh, green oh the rushes grow..." The baby yawned. "One is one and all alone and evermore shall be it so..."

As soon as Mary was asleep, Rowena gazed once more into the cloudy night sky and left the room.

It did not take long to learn where her cousin had been taken.

Heather jumped at Rowena the moment the door opened. She looked more like a beast than a human. Long red scratches ran down her cheeks and arms. Her hair was a mess, her eyes bloodshot. Her nails, worn down, tried to clench into Rowena's arms as she grabbed her. "Kill me!" she screamed. "Kill me, you witch! Kill me! Caspian will not do so. You have your magic, you have your ways of destroying me, so do it now!"

For a moment it seemed that she would attack Rowena, make it necessary she die.

Rowena did not move.

Slowly, hysterically, Heather sank to the floor. "No wonder so many of them hated Muggles! Kill me."Rowena knelt down next to her. She remembered being a child, so amazed and in awe of her cousin, so much older and bigger than her. Strange how growing up changed things. She put her arms around Heather and let her cry into her shoulder.

After Heather, like Mary, had fallen asleep, Rowena found Godric out behind the castle. The first little bits of yellow and orange were stirring in the east. She slid her hand into his.

It didn't matter where Salazar was.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Salazar was with Rose. He stood by her door, strong and silent and straight. If she was not hurting so much she might have laughed. He had always been a handsome boy, but such solemnity did not seem natural.

This was supposed to be a happy moment. It had been so in so many of her fantasies. But now her sister was dead, her niece... gone. She sat on her bed, not daring to look at him. "I'm sorry, Salazar." She had to force herself to say it.

"That I am your son?"

She shook her head. It was good she had no more tears to cry. "I am not sorry you are my son. I have always loved you. I did not want to give you up. Your father kidnaped you when you were born."

"And that's why you killed him?"

"One reason." She picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "There are many. Do you hate me for that?"

He shrugged. "I have not thought about my father in some time. I do not blame you for killing him. Nor do I hate you."

Was she supposed to believe that?

He sighed and left the doorway. Soon he was kneeling in front of her, holding her hands. "I'm sorry I left. Mother."

Mother. She liked the sound of that. If only she could smile. "Did you leave because of the prophecy?"

He nodded. "I was scared. I love Rowe. But I couldn't be responsible for what they all said would happen. One part of what I read said that the line would come from Rowe and I... so I left. She was marrying anyway. To--"

"To protect Helga." Rose nodded. How could she have not seen more? "Sal, we cannot always assume to know what the prophecies mean. Fate may be sent to trick us. Some are clear, some are not."

"I can't led anything evil happen. I've seen too much evil tonight."

"We all have."

"I'll do whatever I have to."

She believed him. She had to believe something positive. The Weasley family was hurt plenty. She was hurt plenty.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was mid-morning by the time Salazar returned to the woods. A funeral had been given for Marigold. He had to stay for that. Helga had not yet come around, but he couldn't wait. Rowena was clearly no longer his. But he had Tanith.

She was waiting for him by the spring. She was smiling, big and bright. He walked toward her, smiling himself, glad there was something good in his life. He could tell her everything bad, and she'd listen.

When he was near enough, she skipped a short distance to hug him. "I found something for you." She removed her arms from his body and pulled something from her neck. "It was at the bottom of the stream. I cleaned it up. It has a S on it, for Salazar!"

She held a locket, dangling from a chain.

He laughed and took the locket. "Sometimes you are such a child."

She batted her eyes. "I know. But I suppose that is what you like. So... is everything all right? Don't lie to me, Salazar, I can see everything in your eyes."

"Well." He pulled her down into the grass next to him. She listened, and he told her everything. Even as he spoke he felt better. Even the loss of Rowena fled. Why not? There was no sign of a storm. The sun was bright, the grass fresh.

Tanith was speechless as he finished. "I'm so sorry, Salazar," she whispered.

"It's not your fault." He held her hand in his. "And... I do not know what you will say to this, but I only hope you will agree. I need to go back."

She blinked. "To Hogwarts?"

He nodded and pulled out a few blades of grass. He stared at them, then threw them to the side. "Yes, to Hogwarts. That's where I belong. That prophecy..."

"It continues to worry you?"

"I'm afraid so. I know it is foolish to be afraid of prophecies, but..."

She planted a kiss on his cheek. "What else worries you?"

So much more. "Tanith, I--"

"Do you still think of Rowena? Is that why you left? Because she was mentioned in the prophecy? A scroll you found?"

"I can never tell when you mock me." He tore out more grass. "Yes, I still think of Rowena. Does that bother you?"

She shook her head. "I've always known how you felt about her. I don't care. I can understand that. It's just that..." She pulled her hand away.

Something was wrong. "Tanith?"

"I'm going to have a baby."

Pressure like a fist collected around Salazar's throat. "What?" He should be pleased about this. What was so wrong?

Tanith climbed to her feet. She was smiling now. Laughing. "I'm going to have a baby, Salazar. Your baby. I'm with child even now. Do you remember what that prophecy said?"

He couldn't move. A sense of horrible realization had fallen over him.

She continued. "You left Rowena. But the prophecy spoke twice. Ravenclaw meant nothing, nothing at all to the prophecy. The evil would come through you, Salazar. You." She laughed again. "You ran to the woods. I followed. I believe in the prophecies, and it is my destiny and privilege to be part of what will come!"

Salazar began backing away.

"It's too late, Salazar Slytherin." Tanith looked much taller now. "I chased you into the woods. I made you fall in love with me. And now the prophecy will come to pass. I always knew it would. You see, Salazar, I have known you for a very long time."

He stared at her. It couldn't be. But now, as he saw the eyes, he sensed something. "Ethelinda."

"My other name. I'm touched you remembered me. I did not lie when I said I liked you, cared for you. I have always had a soft spot for you, which is why I befriended a lonely young wizard with a special gift. My people knew you would be great. I knew you would be great." She took a deep breath, enjoying the sunshine. It was sickening to watch.

He had fled from Rowena for nothing. The prophecy everyone feared had happened anyway. "No. I cannot let this happen." He reached for his wand and held it out.

That seemed to amuse her. Tanith. Ethelinda. Whomever she was. "What now? Are you going to kill me?"

He thought of what he said before. His hand shook, but his voice was firm, preparing the words she herself had taught him. "Yes. Avada--"

"I'll hide until my baby is born." She vanished.

He was left alone with nothing but the running stream. Then he jumped up, wand still clenched. He would find her. He would have to find her.


	28. Meaning of Love

"_I'm going to step into the fire with my failures and my shame,_

_And wave goodbye to yesterday as I dance among the flames..._"

--Martina McBride, "From the Ashes"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He hadn't seen her come in. For a brief but deserved moment she wondered if he even remembered her, in the sense that he dared think of her at something akin to a normal pattern. She was his only daughter, after all, the beautiful little girl that looked so much like her dead mother and so talented a witch that all were stunned by her talents. During those times he had shown pride, the terribly selfish kind that lent itself to no thought whatsoever of the one who truly did the incredible. She was his child and therefore the vessel of his glory by interpretation of the most twisted variety. No matter where she learned it, no matter where it came from, no matter how he ignored her or beat her, it was his and his alone. She had never understood it, and for years now knew that she would never need to, not when there was nothing to understand.

She found him in the library, a tiny hovel of a corner filled with ceiling to floor with books and scrolls, histories and books of theories, spells, and studies. An admirable collection to be sure, and something that would prove a great benefit to Hogwarts' library. He wasn't so wonderful a wizard--respectable, but average--and he didn't need all these. Of course, the books would only be a perk, for she hadn't considered the possibilities until that moment. Strange the things that came to one's mind in times of realization. Still, he studied those books. He stood in the corner, book heavy with pages and dust open in his hands—he didn't read the volumes nearly enough. His back was toward her. He could neither see nor hear her as she entered.

She liked the way she felt. Free. Freer than anytime she had ever looked out that window in her room to the surrounding valley, when the wind was harsh and strong and headed for anywhere but there. She could feel that rush inside of her right then. It whirled through her stomach, heart, and lungs, and stung like the tastiest of salts on her lips. She wanted to run up a mountain and cry and scream and laugh all at once. Maybe she would do that once she was done here, before she went back. No one knew she was here. Not even him.

She tried to remember if she had ever loved him, like a good daughter should. She had never told before, not even the three people she cared for the most, of how he had hit her and screamed at her, the dread and fear that welled up inside of her almost every time he came near.

How could she have waited so long? She had spent nights dreaming of this, days planning it out between other thoughts. There had been so many moments when it had seemed so difficult, but now... Now there could be nothing easier. She stepped forward, making her slipper strike the floor.

He finally turned, startled.

She smiled her prettiest, whatever that meant. "Hello, Father."

He was still startled. He closed the book in his hand while words flustered themselves in his mouth. "Helga! I didn't... it's been sometime... a few years..."

Her smile grew. "The best years of my life."

And then she raised her wand.

It was almost beautiful, the way the glass cut.

After the blood began to soak into the wood floor, she left. She'd be by later for the books.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Helga awoke, every part of her body as tense as if she had just fallen; that seemed to be what had awakened her. She lay in a bed, an ample number of blankets piled over her that she could never be more comfortable. Dark, however. The middle of the night, though she honestly didn't remember getting ready for bed, ever. She took several deep breaths to steady her racing heart. Goodness, she thought. She hadn't had such a strange sleep since she was a child. She almost wanted to laugh. Which was odd considering that dream. Though she honestly couldn't remember falling in that dream.

Amazing how quickly memories came floating back. She even smiled. What would anyone say if they knew she smiled at that memory? Well, to be honest, they had never exactly been nightmares. Angel, they call called her. If they only knew. This time she went as far as to laugh. But it was an event that deserved a laugh. It was one of her favorite events ever. They all might call it wrong, a sin, an affront to nature, but she didn't care. Did that make her evil? It was a thought she sometimes considered, but so far she had failed to give any emotion or real deference. Oh, well. So she was heartless and cold, a terrible daughter. What had been his adjectives as a father? She didn't care. It was a pleasant secret, accompanied by a surprisingly sweet sense of power. Was that not the perfect secret?

Helga yawned. Enough thoughts about the dream, her father's murder. She was tired, it was evidently the middle of the night, and apparently she wasn't going to waste any time worrying about this. She spread out her arms and screamed. Like coils her arms sprung back into her sides. "Ouch."

What had happened? The pain was definitely coming from her chest, an aching and throbbing burning. Gingerly she touched her chest. No mark she could find, but the tenderness was there. She took another breath and tried to think. Something had happened. What had happened? It was difficult to remember. One of the students had needed some extra help, though as soon as that was through she had found herself up on the astrology tower with Ranem and--

Ranem. The man she had thoughts she loved. Like a burst of lightening it all came back.

Helga had seen Latiya Weasley from the tower. She had always promised to protect that little girl. She had called Marigold and Ricky. Ranem took Latiya to the lake. She remembered the water, the look in Latiya's eyes... Then the look in Ranem as he had stabbed her. Nothing after that, of course. Nothing.

She almost felt like laughing again. Such a night.

And Latiya. Helga felt the strength drain from her. Latiya had always been such a funny, sweet little girl. Helga had loved her so much. The talent she had, her passion for everything... what had Ranem done? It was like a knife had been stuck once more in her heart, and the blood rushed up through her eyes as tears. She seemed to sink deeper into the pillow, scarcely able to breathe through the sobs. Latiya. Latiya.

"Helga?"

The sound was a whisper and Helga wasn't sure how she heard it. She forced her mouth clothes, shutting off the crying. Someone was near the bed, and slowly the figure came into focus. Was 'figure' the right word for it? A solid shadow, perhaps, and a small pointed face.

"Latiya," Helga whispered, though she couldn't be sure. She lifted her hand and reached. She knew those eyes. It had to be Latiya.

The shadow's eyes were the same, and so was the face, almost, though it faded and reappeared and faded again beneath a black mist. That same silly cloak the messenger had worn was draped around her girlish shoulders--only now it lifted as if the north wind itself pushed it back and afloat. Helga squinted. "Latiya?"

"Helga?" The air grew cold.

The door flung itself open, and Helga turned her head to the spark of candlelight. Rowena stood in the doorway, dressed in a blue night robe, black curls bound back.

Helga turned back to Latiya, but the girl was gone. For a moment she could only stare into the darkness. There was absolutely nothing but the faint outline of a table.

"Helga! Oh, thank heaven!" Rowena dropped to the bedside, the candlestick floating midair, and squeezed Helga's hand. "I'm so glad you were awake! I was fast asleep and I thought I heard you. I should have told myself I was only dreaming but you have had everyone so worried over the past few days that... Helga, you look wonderful! At least as wonderful as someone who was stabbed in the chest could possibly look, but Ricky healed you up just fine and..." The woman paused for breath and gave a small giggle. "I shouldn't talk so fast. You probably didn't understand a word I'm saying."

Helga's smile returned. She couldn't really help that, not with Rowena chattering next to her. "I guess it is good to be alive."

"Of course it is, silly!" Rowena leaned over the bed and gave her a hug. "Especially with all that happened that night..." Her voice trailed off with her enthusiasm.

Helga struggled to sit up. The candle hovered ever so slightly, making the shadows flow. "How long have I been asleep?"

Rowena put one hand on her stomach and settled herself on the bed's edge. "Four days, and as many nights."

Helga nodded. "That is quite awhile, isn't it?" She wanted to ask about Latiya, but she wasn't at all sure what to say. How did one ask such a question? Did a little girl just give up her soul?

Rowena nodded. Her smile was completely gone. "Everything is pretty much over. I don't know how much you remember. Helga, you just woke up and I really don't want to upset you."

Helga put her hand to her head and closed her eyes. What did it matter? "Rowe, I love you. You know that. Just... just tell me."

Rowena shook her head, but began to talk. It seemed easier for her to just let it all rush out as an avalanche. "Martin decided to stay, with the rest of the children. I don't know if they're going to be okay. I don't know if you remember, but Ranem put a spell on Heather and forced her to kill Marigold. Martin is horrified, of course, and utterly heartbroken. It's a terrible thing and I have never pitied anyone so much. Some of the children still don't understand. I don't know if Heather will ever be able to forgive herself, but it wasn't her fault. On top of that, she is a Muggle and wouldn't have had a way to protect herself anyway. So I don't know why she cares so much! No one blames her one bit! If only that horrible Ranem had never come--we all had bad feelings about him the moment he lay his broom down in this castle!" She paused again for breath, this time panting horribly.

It seemed that Helga already knew this; that didn't make it hurt any less. "What about Latiya?"

Rowena bit her lip and slid closer. "Helga, I am so sorry. I don't know if I should talk about that now, I knew how close the two of you were. I shouldn't have awoken you. Go back to sleep and we will talk more in the morning."

"But I'm awake now!" The words almost echoed. She hadn't meant to speak so harshly.

But Rowena only gave the faintest of smiles. "And so am I. Maybe you're right and I should just get this over with. As you heard, there is so much I don't know right now and I hate that feeling more than anything and--"

"Rowe, I saw her."

She stared, mouth open.

Helga tried again. "I saw her. Latiya. Just before she came in. She wasn't herself. She was like a shadow. She was--"

Rowena shook her head, and Helga grabbed her wrist. "Please tell me that you believe me!"

Gently Rowena took her wrist and lowered it back to the bed. "Of course I believe you. She's still here. She has sworn to protect this school."

"Then can we get her back?"

She hated it the look on Rowena's face.

"Helga, no. There is no way. I've learned about this. It's a new sort of Dark Magic. Latiya is still alive, and she has her soul, but the soul is all but dead. It gives her great power in return. But she can't come back to us. Not like she is now."

"Oh." It was an odd reply, but Rowena's words had deadened Helga. All she could see in her mind was Latiya.

"Helga, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."

Helga shook her head. "It's not your fault."

It seemed they sat on the bed for hours, wax slowly melting from the calendar. The events of that night raced through Helga's head. Had she done anything? Anything at all to save Latiya?

Rowena seemed to read her thoughts. "Helga, Ricky was so proud of what you did that night. You did everything possible to save that little girl."

Slowly she nodded. "I promised her I would never let anything bad happen to her."

The bed creaked as Rowena slid closer. "It was her own choice, you know. It was her own choice."

"What if she didn't know what she was getting into?"

Rowena sighed. "She was a smart girl, always had been. Deep down, I think she knew. I think it's what she wanted. To protect Hogwarts."

Helga almost smiled.

"Just be glad you didn't die, yourself," Rowena said. "You had us so worried. Ricky rescued you."

The air grew almost as cold as when she had seen Latiya. Helga tensed. "That was good of him." She suddenly did not want to look at Rowena. Why had she brought up Godric? Helga had imagined that someone had rescued her. Of course someone had rescued her or how else would she be here, alive and resting? "You must tell him I said thank-you."

Rowena reached up her hand to the candlestick and delicately dipper her finger into the liquid wax. It congealed on her skin as she watched it. "Surely you'll be able to tell him yourself." There was something in her voice.

Helga reached for Rowena's hand. "Rowena, please. We have always been friends."

"We are still friends, aren't we?"

Helga nodded. "I hope so. You are my best friend."

Rowena pulled off the hardened wax. "I think he still cares for you."

Something in her heart fluttered against her will. "He does? Ricky?" She shouldn't have used that nickname. It meant something completely different then. But she didn't love him anymore. "Rowena, that was three years ago and before. He's your husband."

"I know that!" Rowena yelled, leaping from the bed. "Do you think I am so stupid as to not know that I am married? I am baring his second child! I think that definitely makes us husband and wife by now." She paced a few steps from the bed, then turned. "Helga, Salazar came that night."

"Salazar?"

She nodded, her face wildly pale in the candlelight, so much that Helga worried she would be sick. "Salazar came that night, and I did nothing! I... I completely rejected him and I know exactly why."

Helga already knew. "Rowena, please sit down."

Obediently she knelt back by the bed, but did not stop talking. Her fingers clutched at the blankets as tears leaked from her eyes. "I missed him so much. Even when I married Godric I wanted so much for Salazar to be right there. I can't say how much I loved him."

Loved him.

"But he left. He left and I didn't see him again until that night. I hurt so much. I went to the nursery and I cried and I cried. You were hurt, I couldn't talk to you. Everything had happened, I didn't know what to feel or think. But then I realized that it doesn't matter anymore." She looked up and locked her eyes with Helga's. It was almost like a spell, and Helga felt the tiniest twinge demanding that she pull away. "Helga, I am so sorry. It seems that when Godric and I married we all had some sort of silent oath. I know we talked about this, a little. You knew how much I loved Sal, right?"

Helga nodded.

Rowena seemed to take that as affirmation to continue. "I thought it would be all right, as long as we all knew whom we really loved. I know that you have loved Ricky for forever. And I loved Sal. But that's not true anymore."

"Rowe," Helga heard herself beg.

But it was too late. Rowena had started and nothing could stop her. "I don't know if you can ever forgive me. But he's my husband. He's the father of my babies."

Helga didn't want to hear it.

"Helga, I think I am in love with Godric."

The silence fell.

Helga grabbed the blankets, half wanting to tear them from Rowena, only she didn't have the strength. It was so strange to hear. Rowena couldn't possibly love Godric. Rowena loved Salazar. And Salazar had left. And she herself... she was over Godric, wasn't she? She had accepted the marriage, and she hadn't tried to do anything at all. It would be wrong, it would not be in her place. She had no right to butt into something like a marriage. Fate had done what it needed to do.

Then why did she want to run outside and scream?

The door opened again. Neither of them looked up.

"Helga! You're awake."

That time she did look up as Godric quickly crossed the floor to the bed. He knelt next to Rowena, his eyes on Helga the whole time.

He had rescued her. He still cared.

She couldn't see perfectly, but out of the corner of her eyes she could see Rowe, kneeling there, looking as sweet as humanly possible and just a little frightened. What was she afraid of? But Helga couldn't think on that long. Godric was right in front of her, smiling.

"We were so worried, Helga! Rowe has been jabbering about you for days, you mustn't frighten her that way. I healed you, but it was still terrifying to wait for you to wake up, Rowe thought maybe there had been a spell on Ranem's knife." He hugged her.

She couldn't stop herself. She couldn't even think as she did it. It was like the first time she had kissed him, when they had been children.

For the briefest moment he responded. Or perhaps it was her imagination. But much too quickly he pushed himself away. "Helga."

She sat frozen, just as horrified. She shouldn't have done that. Not after what Rowena had said. But she still felt the kiss.

Rowena was on her feet immediately. Helga stared at her, but Rowena barely seemed to see. Then she turned and ran.

Helga pushed the blankets away, as if she were fast enough she could erase it all. "Ricky, I am so sorry."

He didn't hear her. He was out the door, chasing after Rowena.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rowena knew she shouldn't be running, not in her condition. Her legs ached more than they should have, and she felt as awkward as a dragon in a tiny maze. And she wasn't even that big yet. Her feet were bare, not ready for running on hard stone. She didn't see where she ran.

Why should she be angry? If anyone had made a mistake, it was her. She had no right to fall in love with Godric. Just because he was her husband and she was his wife. What were those? Anything but words?

But words could speak truth. And the truth was that she had fallen in love with Godric long ago. She couldn't say the exact date, but it had happened. No wonder she hadn't gone straight to Salazar. Damn it all, but she loved Godric. If she had really loved Salazar, she would have left the wedding and searched for him the whole world over until she had found him.

What had gone so horribly wrong?

"Rowena!" The words echoed. Godric. He was chasing her. Why was he chasing her? He had his precious Helga back... but she had always been his precious Helga. Right until she had wandered in to snatch it all away from the both of them.

She hated herself.

The library was close; she could see the doors of wood so fine they even glimmered in the dark. She had always liked libraries--useful for both reading and romantic trysts. Stealing men away. She had always been somewhat good at that, attracting the attention of every young wizard and a few old ones too disgusting to mention. But it was proof enough. She was the same little slut they had all always teased her of being, the sort that would dare to fall in love with her best friend's true love just because the man happened to be her husband.

She was horrible. She threw open the doors and, out of breath finally, sunk down.

It didn't take long for Godric to catch up. He collapsed next to her and pulled her into his chest. "Don't run away from me! Think of the baby!"

She twisted her head away and tried as well to get rid of his arms. "You have Helga. She loves you. She has always loved you and I know that you have always loved her."

He paused. Somewhere she could hear a mouse. Damn mouses, gnawing at everything. "Rowena, listen to me. Helga kissed me."

"I know. I saw her. I was right there!"

"I know you were!" He pulled her closer, so that her head rested right under his chin. He smelt so wonderful, she thought she would faint. "And I don't care. You don't have to leave her just so you won't hurt me, I'm fine. I don't care what kind of scandal it will create. You two have always wanted each other and you know that I never wanted to marry you in the first place. We weren't supposed to get married, it was supposed to be you and Helga at the wedding."

"I know."

Good. He was intelligent enough to agree.

She turned so that her head was in his shoulder. The tears would come soon. "Ricky, I'm sorry."

He nodded--she could feel that--and kissed her forehead. "Rowe, can I tell you something?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"The other night, when everything happened and Salazar came... I was so scared."

"You jumped into a river that was attacking you. Of course you were afraid."

"It wasn't that."

She didn't want to ask what he meant.

"Rowena, when Sal and I were walking, and you came out, I was so scared that you would go to him. We all knew you were in love with him when you were hardly a baby driving us all mad."

"I wanted to," she replied. "I almost did. I didn't know what to do. I do care for him and I think that I will always love him, somehow."

"I understand."

"Do you remember when we went down beneath the castle, to make our own little tribute to Salazar?"

She smiled. "Yes, of course. And we made that stupid face and neither of us had the slightest idea why or who it even looked like."

"I've been thinking about it and I think it looks like my great-uncle on my father's side."

"So you're telling me that we now have a giant sculpture of a Muggle under a school of wizardry?"

Godric laughed. "Those who hate Muggles, what will they think?"

"There is still the theory that everyone will assume it's related to Salazar. He would laugh so much if he saw it."

"Or kill us. Remember, I know him. He is my brother."

"Your own brother would kill us. Oh, dear."

They both laughed. Rowena thought of how horrible it was that they could laugh after what had happened to Marigold and Latiya, but it felt good. "We did have so much fun making that room," she said. "And that little lizard."

"Every good castle needs a monster."

"Ricky, don't you think it's a little dangerous to have in a school full of children?"

He shrugged. She liked that the way his muscles felt as he did so. "I don't care. For some reason, I don't care. A little danger can be refreshing. Besides, I seem to remember that it was your idea and we did seal the passage way."

"We should have shown it to him when he was here." She let her body go limp and slid her hand over his arm. "I didn't think I could ever talk about him like this to you."

"That's because we have an understanding, Rowena."

She lifted her head so that she could look up at him. "And what, pray tell, is our understanding?"

"You said that you will always love Salazar. I have to tell you that I will always, deep down, care for Helga."

It hurt to hear him say that.

"But love changes over lives and lifetimes. Rowena, these past three years have meant everything to me."

"Ricky, why the hell do you love me?" She wondered if he would say that he didn't love her.

"Because I do. I really do love you."

She practically pounced up on him. They rolled back against a book shelf, knocking one or two to the floor.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was afternoon, two weeks later. Save for a few pieces of wood, holders of a spell, drifting on the lake, there seemed to be no sign that anything had happened. The Weasleys had left, for a short time Martin had said, but Godric trusted them to return. Martin was a good man, and the children were brilliant. Godric hoped they would return soon, because he rather missed the children running around, all with hair as red as their mother's. Evans red. All classes had resumed, though every so often someone complained of a strange feeling of ice stirring through the air. Godric tried to ignore it, but in an odd way it was rather comforting.

He and Rowena went about their duties, which consisted of he teaching and Rowena taking care of Mary--though she had insisted on teaching a class every now and then. Sometimes they crossed in the halls with reactions toward each other that ranged everything from a simple glance exchange to a full blown kiss sure to send everyone near running. He didn't care. He loved her so much more, each day, he couldn't comprehend it.

Helga, on the other hand, he rarely saw. He hated that. Part of him thought it was best that he didn't see her, but for the most part he wanted to sit down and talk with her and explain everything. As if that would prevent her a broken heart. Could she possibly understand? He didn't think she could. The rare times he saw her she didn't so much as glance at him. She had dared to kiss him and now he was no longer worth a look.

And yet it didn't matter at all. He just wanted her to understand. If only they could pause, three moments, in the same room.

That day he was teaching a group of older students everything they needed to perfect their spells. It was a wide range of magic types--they were talented students and only needed some practice. Terminus would be proud, Godric realized. The magic was truly strengthened. The school had been a wonderful idea.

Of course, every young wizard still made his mistakes. Godric was just cleaning up blood spilled from hell-knew-what charm when a knock sounded at the door. Before he could even invite whomever it was in the door opened.

Godric stared. For a long time he couldn't even imagine who had just barged in. A man, tall, with black hair and skin browned from wind and sun. The eyes were dark and wild, and the clothes hung from his frame as rags. It was Salazar.

A short time could certainly change things.

The students whispered among themselves as Godric ran to the door. "You're back."

Salazar nodded stiffly. "Yes, I am back. Happy to see me?"

The tone wasn't what Godric had expected. "Well, yes, I'm always happy to see you. You didn't exactly stay around long last time."

"There was no point then. I was an absolute fool! Godric, we must talk!"

Something was wrong. Godric felt stupid for not noticing earlier. He looked back at the class and gave a signal of dismissal, only to have ten young wizards and witches dash past him. Salazar took his arm and led him to the side. "It's really important. I've done something terrible."

Not a good thing to hear. Godric shook his head and forced a smile. "When have you not done something terrible?"

Salazar's face remained fixed. "Where are the women? Helga and Rowena? I need them as well."

Something was very wrong. Godric shook his head. "Tell me first."

"I can't."

"You've always been able to tell me anything. What are you talking about?"

Salazar shook his head and stared down the hall. "Empty." He just have meant the hall. "Godric, I need to find someone. If I can't find her, I'll have to destroy the school and you will not stop me."

Godric ran back into the room, grabbed a quill and parchment, and sent messages flying to Helga and Rowena.

They appeared almost at once, Rowena cuddling Mary and Helga looking as pale and withdrawn as ever. "What's happening?" she asked.

Salazar leaned against the fall as if he might faint any moment. From the way he looked, Godric would not be surprised. He himself hung back, forcing himself to keep his eyes only on Salazar. He didn't even worry about Rowena.

"Do you remember Tanith?" Salazar asked. His eyes stared past them. "Do you remember her at all? A small girl with blonde hair?"

Tanith? An image jolted itself into Godric's head. He hadn't thought of her in so long. "The strange one? Yes."

A grim smile stretched over Salazar's face. "Glad you remember her. I need to find her. I need to find her and kill her."

Helga gasped. Rowena hugged the baby closer.

Godric waited, expecting more of the story.

By then Salazar seemed unaware he had an audience of his best friends. "There was a prophecy. Several, in fact. The always speak of a great evil to the wizarding world that will come in centuries."

"But not for centuries," Rowena said. "Logically we have time to prepare."

"They said that it will be my descendant. We may have centuries, but something bad will happen. Call me mad, but I fear it."

Godric shook his head. Somehow he wasn't surprised. But even so there was a small glimmer of fear inside of him. "Where did you hear these prophecies?"

"Rose. Scrolls. There have been other Seers that have spoken."

"You're not evil, Salazar!" Godric said. He brought his arms to his side. "Why are you so afraid? You didn't do anything."

"But you?" Rowena asked, interrupting Godric. "I don't understand. The line comes from you and you mention Tanith..." A look of absolute horror came into her eyes.

It was almost funny. Indeed, Godric had the strangest urge to laugh. He remembered the girl. "So this is where you have been for the past three years. With Tanith."

Salazar didn't smile. "She's not what she seemed. She only came to me because she wanted a child to be born. I thought Rowena had something to do with, so that's why I left you." For one second he locked his gaze with hers. Yet she did nothing. "But that prophecy was a lie, a trick, and so was Tanith. She wants evil to come into the world, and she made herself a part of it. Now I have to find her and kill her before the baby is born."

"And if the baby is born?" It was a fair question, Godric thought. It wasn't as if he wanted to know the answer.

A deep shudder slid through Salazar. "Then I shall kill the baby as well."

A scream exploded inside of Godric--at least it didn't come out his mouth. He thought of Mary and the soon-to-come baby. "You would kill your child?"

Salazar brought up a fist and slammed it into the wall, hard. His face tightened with pain. "I don't know, Godric. I really don't know what I would do if I found the child."

"The baby wouldn't be wicked."

"You don't know her. She is the mother, and she isn't even human. She is a serpent, maybe. I don't know. I don't know what she is."

"Salazar, don't," Rowena begged, stepping closer to him. "Please, sit down. You're tired. You're not well."

Godric dared a look at Helga. She hadn't said a word. She just stared fixedly at Salazar.

"I'm well enough." He shook her hand away. "I have spent weeks looking for her. I can't find her. I need help to find her."

He was mad, Godric realized, though he understood why. "You want our help?"

"That's why I came here! You're my brother, you should help me."

"To kill a girl?"

"She isn't a girl!"

He realized his own fist was clenched tight. "I can't do that. And it's fate. What makes you think you can stop it?"

Salazar laughed, hard and mirthless. "I didn't think you put so much faith in destiny, Godric."

"I'm not leaving the school to an attack just so I can go on this mindless quest with you."

The laugh stopped. Salazar glared hard at him. "Maybe they were all right. Maybe it is best that we destroy the school."

"You wouldn't do that!" Helga screamed. The first words she had spoken since the meeting had begun. "You wouldn't dare!"

Salazar took a deep breath, and trembled. "I don't care if I wouldn't. But I have to do something. I have to find her and I have to kill her. I will not be held responsible for this."

"Why would you be?" Rowena asked softly. "You didn't do anything."

"I made a child." Salazar looked down at Mary, who was busying herself by pulling her mother's hair. "That should be a good thing, shouldn't it? A child should mean happiness."

Godric's heart pounded. Of course a child was good.

"But it won't be your child!" She was begging now. "It won't be for centuries."

"Will she even love the baby?" Salazar screamed. "Will she?"

"It's hers as well. Why wouldn't she?"

Salazar shook his head and turned away. Godric hated watching this. Absolutely hated it.

"Salazar, you've done nothing but good," he said.

"I was born," came the reply. "This all happened because I was born. Rose said so. She made the prophecy when I was born. Because she fell in love with someone besides her Muggle husband."

Godric felt a flash of fury. "That Muggle was my father. He was a good man."

"I never said he wasn't. At least you have something good to be connected to."

Salazar threw another punch at the wall. "I'm leaving," he said. He turned to Rowena. "Come with me."

She wouldn't go, Godric thought.

She didn't. Rowena shook her head. "I can't go with you. I don't want to."

Salazar nodded. That surprised Godric. "I still love you. I'm sorry."

"I know."

Salazar began running down the hall.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Godric saw Helga turn. She seemed as still as a statue as she, too, watched Salazar. Then she spoke again.

"Wait!" she shouted. "Salazar!"

He stopped.

She picked up the edge of her long robe and ran toward him. "I'm coming with you!"

A smile, actually happy, broke over his face, and he held out his hand for Helga. She grabbed it, and soon the two had vanished around a corner.

Godric and Rowena just stood there. The only sound came from Mary.

"They're gone," he finally said.

Rowena nodded, and Godric put his arm around her shoulder. "I can't believe it."

She nodded again. "We're down to two. When did this happen? Did we do something wrong?" She looked up at him, eyes wet. "You don't think--?"

"Think what?"

She shook her head and brushed a finger through Mary's hair. "I don't know. I don't know what I think. I just thought this school would last forever."

"It will." He sighed. He hadn't thought of his father in so long. A Muggle who defended the magical world. He was supposed to have been so brave. What would he have done?


	29. Choices Made

They stopped in a town that night, a tiny little hamlet nestled off a main road frequented by Muggles and wizards alike. No one seemed to notice them, though they were odd enough, Salazar in clothes heading toward the ragged side and Helga still wrapped in her finest yellow silk robes. She had grabbed a broomstick on the way out of the castle for a quick flight; she hadn't expected that to hit her as inspiration, but Salazar had shown no emotion in the way of anger. Rather, he seemed pleased, even by the one look they got as she dragged the broom with her into a small, dim-lit inn. He had insisted they stop, the one word he had spoken since they had left Hogwarts.

He pulled a seat from a rickety wooden table made of roughly-cut logs and offered it to her. She sat down and immediately felt like the thing would go up in smoke. Her heart was racing so fast she thought she would choke on her own blood. But she grasped the edge of the table, breathing deeply, as Salazar sat down across from her. The dining room wasn't near full, only a few local men and travelers that barely cast them a glance. She paid them little more courtesy, though there was interest about this. Where else would one spy a Muggle farmer talking to a full-blooded goblin about things as trivial as the weather and dragons? "Peaceful," she muttered.

Salazar nodded stiffly. He was pale, she noticed, almost to the point of illness. She really hadn't noticed that before. She hadn't noticed much of anything, just that look in his eye and the sudden desire to follow him anywhere, anywhere at all as long as it wasn't in that damned castle.

But she couldn't just abandon the school.

"Few villages like this remain," Salazar continued. His gaze had left her and traveled to the farmer and the goblin. "This is a prized rarity, and I doubt these people even realize it. They are walking and breathing through what is already legend."

"Did Muggles and our kind ever get along?" Helga asked. She stared down at the table top, imagining the twisting grains into a shattered mirror of different objects. She felt dizzy, as if she had just fell from the sky.

He shrugged. "I don't really know. It just happened. Magic just began to fade."

"One of the reasons for opening up the school."

"Yes. And the witch burnings. One Muggle might not mind, but people... put people in mobs and they'll be afraid of anything. No wonder some of us wanted to retaliate."

"Surely everything can't be that bad that others have to die."

"People will do anything to fight what they are afraid of."

Afraid. Yes, he was right. The same thing he was doing. She pulled her eyes from the table and stared at him until he could possibly have no choice but to look back at her. For a moment she wasn't sure of what she wanted to say--he looked so much older than she remembered. "Isn't that what you're doing?"

He stared back at her, face expressionless. A pair of obvious travelers laughed over some joke in their corner. "What else am I supposed to do, Helga?"

"Are you supposed to do anything?"

For the first time that day he smiled, and she saw the glimmer of the mischievous brat he used to be. "Philosophizing with me, are you now?"

"I've never done so before." The smile was contagious. "All I am saying is that you are willing to kill an innocent infant over something you're afraid of."

"Helga, you don't even know what you're talking about. You're innocent. You're perfect. You've never done anything wrong until tonight."

Wrong. She liked the way that sounded. Like a gong being struck with ten thousand echoes. Her smile grew. "You think it was wrong of me to runaway with you?"

"You make it sound like we're eloping."

"Maybe we are. If I loved you like I should love someone, why wouldn't I elope with you?"

He went so far as to laugh. "Helga, tell me, why did you do it?"

The question she had been asking herself all day that had failed to give up any answer. She sighed, breath coming out from every inch of her body. "I don't know, Salazar. I have no idea why I came with you."

"Surely you must have some idea."

She shook her head. "I really don't know. We were all there, you were leaving, and suddenly something inside me screamed that I should just leave. And you were leaving, so what was wrong with leaving with you? It was an opportunity I knew I couldn't miss. Have you ever felt like that before? Felt that you were so bored and so trapped that all you wanted to do was run screaming off a cliff and fly all the way down, not caring if you crashed or not, just because you had never done so before. Freedom. Only once have I ever felt as free as I did when I left with you. Perhaps it will prove foolish of me, and maybe someday I'll wind up running back to Hogwarts. I don't know why I did it, but I did and I still don't regret it. Maybe in a few hours. But not now."

"I've never known you to be so poetic before."

She met his eyes again, trying to think of what to say next. The words were just tumbling out, they didn't need any plans. That day her mind had left her and her spirit was flying thoughtlessly. And, somehow, she knew he felt the same way. She recognized that look in his eye. "Why did you let me come with you?"

He shrugged. "You wanted to. And you're my friend."

Friend. What a word to hear. She smiled. "As you are mine, Salazar. You are my friend, and there is nothing left at Hogwarts for me."

"Nothing? You have students. You're home is there. You have friends. Rowena, Godric..."

She shook her head, cutting him off. "No. Not anymore."

He tilted his head, expression now studious. "They're no longer your friends."

"One doesn't leave friends that easily. At least, I don't. But I can't stay there when they are with each other. Not right now."

"But you were there with them."

"And now I realize that I don't want to be. They're in love, Sal. Love. The one thing I hoped would never happen happened, and they love each other. They have a daughter. And I just realized today that I can't watch that anymore. What about you? You love Rowena."

He nodded. "I still do. I will always love her."

"Then you know how I feel."

For a long time he said nothing. Helga watched him, not with patience as she didn't know what she was waiting for. She was merely watching. And then he spoke. "Helga, I know exactly how you feel. And not just about Rowe and Ricky. Everything else you said, I understand completely."

The look in his eyes. "What did I say?"

"If I find Tanith, if I ever do, I really don't know if I could kill her."

She didn't expect the relief that came. She hadn't realized she had been worried about such a thing. But it came, as if every light in that damn tavern melted and flowed right into her. Strange the things that could reveal a murdering girl like herself to sympathy. "But you said you had to, that you had no other choice."

"I'll always have a choice."

"I know. Salazar, you're not a murderer. If you were, maybe you'd be pleased, and maybe you wouldn't."

He smiled at her, something rather knowing. "You sound like you are well acquainted with such things."

So the subject had finally come up. Well, why not? "That is because I murdered my father?" Now what would come? The shock? The accusation? The horror that someone so sweet could do something so terrible? She found herself relishing the anticipation. This is what she was living for.

And the shock was there, some. A widening of his eyes and a curl at his lips. "Helga? You?"

She nodded. Oh, no, she was actually smiling. "I had never told anyone that before?"

"And you had a reason to?"

"Of course I had a reason."

He leaned forward, watching her as if she were the most fascinating person he had ever seen. It was rather a nice feeling. "Helga. The angel. A killer."

She nodded again, defiant. She wanted to grab the broomstick again and fly off into the sky. She felt she could do that without the broom.

"Did you enjoy it?"

She leaned back, gaze locked with his. "Would you hate me if I said I did?"

He hesitated, than shook his head. "Secrets, Helga. It's incredible. The secrets people hold."

"And now I have shared my secret with you."

He took her hand and squeezed it. Now this was looking like a lovers' tryst. "And I thank-you for that. Maybe we are kindred spirits."

"When you say 'kindred' do you mean you would really kill your child?"

Salazar let go of her hand and leaned back into his chair. A young couple entered the room, chattering noisily to one another. The room was filling with the late crowd and would soon no longer be a place for secrets. "I don't know. But I don't think I would."

"But you were so adamant at the school today."

"Emotions. People feel things. People get angry. You can almost understand how everyone feels. The Fighters. Others in the Order. The Muggles. You can almost sympathize. Empathize. Perhaps it would be simply be easier if we just kept Muggles and our kind apart. I was so hurt and angry when I found out what Tanith had done. I felt betrayed. And then I felt it was my fault. After all I did, leaving Rowena, just because of the words of a damn prophecy. And now I just feel weak. Foolish. What am I supposed to do?"

She shook her head. She didn't know, either. "I guess we just do what we can."

"Mm." He drummed his fingers on the table, one finger followed by the other. "Maybe I'm just hunting Tanith for the thrill of it."

"That's something I can understand."

"I've done nothing good for this school. I just wish I could, someday."

Helga leaned over the table and planted a kiss on his cheek. There was stubble there, he needed a shave. He was a good person. "Just keep on planning that. You'll get there. You'll do something great, I just know it."

"You can't possibly know such a thing," Salazar said.

"Who says I can't hope for it? So, now that we are here, what is our next step, if you really don't intend on searching out and killing Tanith?"

"I don't think I ever thought that far ahead. I was mad." He grimaced. "And now I have drug you out this far with no plans whatsoever. Are you hungry? Will you kill me?"

She appreciated the joke. "I have no reason to kill you. I don' t mind. I didn't have any plans, either."

"So you won't return to Hogwarts?"

She shrugged. It didn't sound like a bad idea, but then again, right now she wouldn't say no to anything. Only one glimmer of pain radiated from thought of the school. "Ricky."

"So you have a broken heart. Welcome to my world. You're stronger than that. You're Helga Hufflepuff. Someday, you'll find someone and you'll love him and marry him."

Now that was a happy thought, somehow well suited to this moment. "Maybe. I just happen to fall in love with all the wrong men. I'm an unfortunate woman."

He smiled, the warmest, truest, of the night. "I'm sure you'll meet him."

She smiled back. "I hope so."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The world was unreal. Godric walked through the lessons as a zombie, immune to all thought and word that came from anywhere but Rowena or his own mind. Something had happened to him, the moment Helga and Salazar had ran from view. He wasn't sure what it was, but it hurt like hell and gnawed at his soul. Rowena seemed to feel the same way. He passed her on occasion, and felt vividly everything that struck at her.

The glances they exchanged said the same unspoken words. And it had only been a single day. He wasn't sure whom he really missed the most; was he supposed to miss best the woman he had once loved or his best friend, his brother? He finally decided that it was both of them he missed, or that perhaps what hurt was what they had done to him. He still saw Salazar's face in his mind, his pleas for help. Godric even felt angry when he thought of that; what right did Salazar have to demand anything that required someone's death? No one had that right, no matter what had been done. There had been too much death already, and he for one was sick of it. He also saw Helga, long blonde hair flying behind her as he ran. What surprised him was that he didn't feel what he thought he should be feeling.

But the truth was stark, hard, and evident right in front of them. Two of the school's founders were gone. All that was left was Rowena and himself.

He ended a lesson, hardly knowing what he taught even as he taught it, and marched from the room, leaving the students to wonder just what they were supposed to do. Dismissed. They knew the meaning. The school had few laws that were no different from the way many of these young wizards and witches had been raised. He almost ran down the hall. But no. He could not be afraid. This is what everyone wanted. One of the last teachers at the school to become afraid.

"Godric."

Godric obeyed. At least it wasn't a renegade student. "Hello, Jonas." He turned around to face the old man.

Jonas seemed older than ever and at the same time younger. "I heard about what happened today, Godric. Salazar Slytherin had returned and Helga left with him."

Hogwarts gossip, how it spread! Godric nodded slowly. "It's as if the school is collapsing in on itself."

Jonas laughed and took a few steps closer. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'm not supposed to believe it, because that is exactly what everyone would love. If I became afraid just because two of the school's founders left."

"That really does not answer my question, you know, boy."

He knew that very well. He chuckled softly. They were near a staircase, steps already twisting with an anticipated turn they obviously wished to make. Would they get on with it! "And then I shall add that the sentiment I just stated is one that I whole-heartedly agree with."

Jonas laughed as well. "Then I must say that I am glad to hear it. I know you all my flatter yourselves otherwise, but the fact remains that this school is already off the ground and even if death strikes all four of you, it won't close the school. It's too late for that."

One cheerful thought. Yet the shadows did indeed seem to lighten. The school was set up. He remembered first looking at it, Latiya Weasley on his shoulders. "That's not what I'm afraid of right now."

"Oh?"

"Uncle Jonas, I hate being afraid. It's not something I enjoy being. My father, I thought he was brave, from the stories I heard. And he a Muggle--he had no magic to protect him. If I am supposed to be brave--"

"Of course you are brave." Jonas hobbled over to the wall and leaned against it for extra support. "You're a wonderful leader. The others have always looked up to you."

"I refused to help Salazar. He asked for my help, and I didn't give it to him."

"You were afraid to do what he asked?"

Godric didn't even know anymore. He had just not wanted to help. He shook his head angrily and paced the floor before his uncle. "Salazar was afraid of prophecies. He was demanding my help to end one. I refused."

"Why?"

What answer was there to give? Everything? "It didn't feel right. He wanted to kill someone."

Jonas's gnarled fingers wiggled over the curve in his walking staff. "Are you telling me, boy, that you feel guilty for refusing to kill someone?"

"No. I'm telling you that I feel guilty for refusing to help my best friend."

Jonas sighed and looked to the floor. Godric wondered what was so fascinating about stone. He tossed his arms into the air, muscles suddenly aching. "You see? You agree that it was wrong."

"It was your choice," Jonas finally said. "It was your choice, and it is my opinion that you did right."

"I recently learned he was my brother. Does that not change things?"

"Your loyalty is most commendable."

Commendable. What a word. Why was it so hard to do things that were right? Godric gave a hollow laugh. "There are just too many things to be loyal to. Ethics, people, everything. After awhile they begin to contradict."

"The pains of life," Jonas replied quickly. His hands slid down the walking stick. "But you have done well, with your choices."

"You do realize, Uncle, that we helped fate just by building this school."

"How are we helped fate? We are simply doing what we need to do. The future is far too complex to try to prevent things we have no part in. We just do what is right."

That was an awful lot to worry about. Godric stopped and stared up the staircase that was now gliding to who knew where. What a wild place this castle was. "I could have changed things earlier just by killing Salazar." There. Something shocking to say.

But Jonas just laughed. "Now come and tell me honestly, would you really have done that?"

Godric thought of Salazar and shook his head. "No," he said. "I wouldn't have."

"Then it doesn't matter what you could have done."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Godric didn't fall asleep that night. He stayed up, wandering the halls like a regular ghost and thinking. He thought about many things, Helga, Rowena, Salazar... everyone. He thought about the school, that musty old building that they all hoped would last for centuries. He had no doubt in his mind that it would. There was a rush of defiance in that thought, that no matter what anyone tried they couldn't do a thing. And would it matter? There were other schools of magic, now, so it wouldn't matter too much if Hogwarts was destroyed. Every rock, every painting, every little spell cast by a prankster student would tumble and break before his very eyes, and no one could predict if that would stop or cause anything. Things burnt down had a way of moving on, he realized.

He still missed Helga and Salazar.

There was a large window overlooking the nearby forest. The place was rather unnerving, the forest, but Godric liked to look at it, anyway. He paused at the window. It was clear outside.

He suddenly wanted to just leave. Get Rowena and Mary and leave the school to its own devices.

But the feeling soon passed, and something moved in the trees.

Godric stared hard. It was a figure, a human, running so incredibly fast that the trees seemed to move with it until the figure was nothing more than a slip of cloth gliding through the branches.

His body tensed.

The figure moved out of the trees, a bare shadow on the lawn, hidden from true view by the glittering stars. For the smallest moment it paused, then shrunk. As Godric watched, the form of a crow flew straight for the window.

The sword, he thought. His father's sword. He needed that sword.

Metal, warm and cold at the same time, filled his hand and he looked down, already knowing what was there. A little spell, without incantation, something Rowena had taught him. The sword was there, and the crow was perching on the sill.

He rose the sword. Stars and torch light caught the metal until it shown. It would be so easy to bring it down on top of the crow, but he waited, expecting what he did not know.

The crow stared back at him with unblinking eyes, then changed. The feathers slid like black ink into the skin until there was only a young woman kneeling on the sill. Her hair was brown, not the crow-black he was expecting, and braided until the braids could be twisted around her head. Her eyes, though, were crow-dark. She wore neither dress nor robes, but a man's pants and tunic--moldy grey. In her hand was a wand.

Godric lowered his sword hand. "Who are you?"

"My name does not matter," she hissed. She knelt like a cat ready to spring, and those dark eyes bore into him. "Where is he? Where is Salazar Slytherin?"

It was almost humorous. Once Salazar would have thought it hilarious to be the center of so much attention. "I cannot tell you where he is."

"If you were wise, you would tell me. I have been sent to kill him, you are nothing. If you don't tell me where he is I shall destroy this school!"

Godric smiled at her. "Don't lie, you have no such power."

The girl snarled. Of course she wouldn't like being mocked. "Don't underestimate me. There are few brave enough to come to this monstrosity. I have heard visions of the future. Thousands will be killed by one wizard."

He fought the urge to laugh. None of this talk worried him in the least. "Then that shall be dealt with as it comes."

"Have you no heart?"

"You profess to kill now. Are you any worse?"

With an animalistic growl she leaped from the sill, wand outstretched and gleaming. Godric felt the mark of burns on his bare arms. "Tell me where he is! Sacrifices must be made now."

She didn't know there was already to be a baby. Well, she didn't need to know that.

She rose up straight, tears in her angry eyes, wand hand shaking. She was powerful, Godric sensed. She couldn't destroy the school, but she could do other things. "Tell me."

"I won't."

"I'll kill you! Perhaps that will change some things. You don't think this has been a worry over lifetimes?"

Jonas was right about the future. Godric slowly brought up the sword. The girl began to chant something under her breath. "I will fight you," he said.

"With a sword against my magic?" She rose her wand.

It was funny. It was terribly funny. The girl was fighting things she couldn't change! And she'd kill to do so. What if the prophecies were wrong? With an actual laugh, he let the sword clatter to the floor.

"Be that way." The girl turned and ran down the hall.

Outside the stars seemed to dim. The girl was in the school. With a cry Godric picked up the sword and sped after her. What had he been thinking? What hadn't he been thinking? This was a school, children who trusted him, his family... She wouldn't be able to sense where the nursery was, would she?

It wasn't fair. What was he supposed to think? What was he supposed to do? Not care about some things and care about the others? He had been a fool to not stop her. Had he expected to let her kill him and then leave? He bit his lip until the blood flowed, and he kept running.

She was unbearably fast.

The nursery door was there. Rowena and Mary were inside. She tossed her head back to send one defiant smile, and pushed against the door, wand stuck carefully between two fingers.

He wasn't fast enough. How could he not be fast enough.

"Someone you care about? They sleep!" she called back. "I know spells! Avada--"

The sword looked like a bird, great and silver and lightning fast. It bit into the girl's neck, and bathed itself in the succeeding red fountain. She stood where she was, hand still on the door, for several terribly long seconds before sliding neatly to the floor, where the blood continued to bubble like rapids from her neck.

Godric had never killed anyone before. He felt his own blood gather in his neck, almost demanding to spill itself as well. He sucked in air and then more air. The sword was still clutched tightly in his hands.

"Ricky!" Rowena appeared at the door, sleep still thick in her eyes, barely dissipating as she looked down at the body. She gasped. "Ricky!"

Godric looked up at Rowena.

The girl would have killed Rowena.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was almost three o'clock, and the nursery window was wide open, letting in the warm smell of night and the twinkling stars that caught the mist on the lake almost afire. Rowena could smell it, thick as perfume and stew. But she wasn't going to go look out.

She still wanted to. It still called to her.

After all, only a few hours before there had been a body right on the very doorstep of this room.

Ricky had protected her and Mary.

She looked over him, asleep on a bed just next to Mary's cradle. He smiled as he slept, no mind given to his words of earlier. He had been upset about killing the girl. Very upset. She had never seen him in such a state before. In a way she rather envied him. That would have been exciting, to kill someone. But Godric was not a killer and neither was she. Could she ever be? And Godric was still not a killer. He had done what he needed to do.

She had her books with her, and parchment plenty. It was a project she had thought of about a year before, albeit one that had been loosely on her thoughts far longer than that. The history would be necessary of how Hogwarts had come to be. Rather boring, save for a few choice details, but wasn't that the nature of so much history? She would much rather study spells. One could be a mother and study as well. One could also well be a mother and write history as well. It would be applauded by posterity.

She gave the window a single glance, but she knew very well Salazar would not be out there waiting for her. He never had been.

She still loved him in her way, she supposed. Nothing would change that. But the true passion had burned itself out long ago. She blew a kiss at the sleeping form of Godric. She felt like a child doing so. It was a good feeling.

She just wished both of them would come back. New things could be made. Not everything had to change.

She almost felt angry, as she dipped her quill into ink and jotted down another splotch of words. Almost. It wouldn't do to feel anger anymore about anything in the past. She had her fun, and she was ready to be the best teacher to this school she could possibly be. After all, she had been kidnapped, and not many could brag over that sort of thing. That was excitement, that was danger, a small part of everything else that had happened. It was like living a story, and perhaps it wouldn't be too longer before another mad assassin would find his way to the castle.

The quill nearly scribbled itself right from her hand, and before long she looked down. It was worth a smile. All the stories coming right down onto parchment. She hadn't even noticed. She had heard the beliefs of those who said that all souls repeated their times on earth. Life after life. She had never accept the concept, but it was an intriguing idea. How many things could one soul experience before doldrums set in? And what if that soul read a history that he, without knowing, had it lived? Would it really be the same person? She rather wished she had someone there now to banter the idea with her. Someone that wasn't a baby or asleep.

She sighed and laughed to herself. Maybe she did want one more opportunity to kiss on the lakeside with Salazar. Maybe that was all this talk amounted to.

Concentrate on this histories, she told herself. What in the world had persuaded her to work on these things. Just because she had seen a little blood?

She set her quill down and stared hard at everything she had just written. It was hardly a history. It was instead everything she had felt and seen. Well, wasn't that history as well? There were facts as well as heart.

But what would it matter? Everything would be changed. That was the truth of history; soon it would make itself up into a fantasy and details would be lost. No one would know every reason for everything, and so everyone would make things up. Fantastic ideologies, heroes and villains.

Rather bitter thought.

And with that, she stood up with her batch of scrolls, crossed the room, and tossed it all into the crackling fire.

It was thrilling to watch it all burn.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A knock sounded at the door, but Salazar had not been dreaming anything. His eyes, still desperate for sleep, slowly opened, only to see the dim light streaming through the blankets. He was still under the covers, damn it.

The knock came again.

He carefully sat up. He felt odd, tired. Resigned was the word. Was that what he felt? The past few weeks had sped like fire over a field, and he was sick of it all. He just wished it would all end.

A third knock.

The inn room was small, with little room for anything but a practical bed and a table with a washing pitcher. He hadn't mind--it reminded him of his hut back in the woods. It had provided a good night's rest, if nothing else. He hadn't slept in so long, and it was almost cruel to see the morning light streaming in through the window.

Who would be at the door? Helga had slept in the next room, and he half-suspected she would barge her way in if she needed to talk to him. He pushed himself from the bed and unlocked the door.

"Hello, Salazar."

He tried to slam the door again, but Tanith caught the doorknob and pushed back with surprising strength. She did not try to enter the room, but stood where she was, as if afraid.

He had vowed to kill her. This was his opportunity. It had come. Unless he were still dreaming. But he could feel the heat from the window, the wooden floor under his bare feet, the ragged robes he had slept in.

He could kill her now.

"Tanith," someone else muttered.

Salazar cursed under his breath. There was Helga, dressed as if she had been awake for some hours, standing a few feet behind Tanith.

Helga could kill her. She had killed already.

But she had no reason to kill Tanith. This was his. Had Helga meant this as his great thing to do?

Tanith pulled a wand from the pocket of her pale green robe. Her stomach already protruded slightly.

His child.

"I heard you were looking for me to kill me," she said softly.

Where had he put his wand?

She lifted her wand, her face like stone except for the blaze in her eyes, a blaze of hate. "Avada Kedavra," she said. And then she disappeared with a loud crack.

Helga screamed.

Time seemed to freeze as the green flame rushed toward him. He knew what it would do. He had seen what it would do, all those years ago, the first time he had killed anyone. He could have killed Tanith and the baby the same way.

He wanted to laugh. Tanith had mentioned lifetimes once. Had this all happened before?

He saw the look on Helga's face, shining from the hall shadows.

Maybe he could still do something great. Someday.

Helga had wanted that from him.

The spell struck him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The girl gave one final scream and let her head fall back against the pillow. Every swear word she had ever been taught and taught to shun had spun from her mouth in a flurry of anger she would later be mocked for. But even so she could see the beaming midwife and hear the screams of a new little life. The scream changed into a weak laugh.

"Nine hours of labor, darling. You were wonderful.

She didn't need to be reminded. Her husband kissed her, though the baby's screaming was growing louder every second. It was a great sound.

"Let me see him, James. Let me see him."

The midwife wrapped the screaming baby in a clean white cloth. "He's a small one, Lily, but he's feisty," she said.

Lily didn't mind. She happily and tiredly accepted the screaming thing. James bent over her, more concerned with the baby than her. She didn't mind.

"He's so ugly!" James said happily.

"He was just born," said the midwife. "They all look like that.

He wasn't ugly. Lily kissed the screaming baby's forehead.

"Okay, he's not ugly." James rubbed the baby's cheek with his finger. "He'll become cute eventually and he'll do great things."

"Of course he will." Lily accepted another kiss from her husband as the baby continued to scream with renewed energy.

_My right hand holds matches_

_My left holds my past._

_I hope the wind catches_

_And burns it down fast._

_I'm going to step into the fire_

_With my failures and my shame_

_And wave goodbye to yesterday_

_As I dance among the flames._

_So don't try to save me now_

_Let the walls of my world all burn down._

_Just stand back and wait till the smoke finally passes_

_And I will rise from the ashes._

_For all that I'm losing_

_Much more will I gain_

_The hard part is choosing_

_To change what needs change._

_My step will be much lighter_

_With these demons off my chest_

_I'm born a better spirit_

_And lay the old to rest._

_So don't try to save me now_

_Let the walls of my world all burn down._

_Just stand back and wait till the smoke finally passes_

_And I will rise from the ashes._

_And I'll walk away stronger_

_I will be flying_

_Higher and truer than I've flown before._

_My right hand holds matches_

_My left holds my past_

_I hope the wind catches_

_And burns it down fast._

--Martina McBride, "From the Ashes"

_**The End.**_


End file.
